This Game is Too Hard
by Octoya
Summary: Freak encounters and otherworldly relationships follow Frisk and her companion Flowey back into the completion of her run. Seeing what could be, all the child wants is the ending that she saw in another world. But the game she plays wasn't really designed to end happily. Was Sans right after all? A continuation of "The Many Worlds Theory Sucks". Features Underfell AU.
1. They Taste Like Dust, Obviously

It was quiet in the forest, since everything was muffled by the snow. The trees did their best to stifle the razorlike wind that always seemed to be blowing through Snowdin and its surrounding areas, and by the entrance to the ruins they were so thick that you might not feel it at all. Hence it was very easy to hear things from behind the door, even though it was thick stone. There was a knock, and another knock.

Inside the door it was easy to hear anything, because she was always listening for something. He usually did knock twice, anxious to make sure that she was actually there. The way it always went, she would ask who was there and get another joke. This time, she said, "You are back already?"

Because this was their second meeting in the same day.

His gruff, wheezy and city-accented voice never failed to delight her with its company, as on he talked. His voice, and an accidentally slipped up name, was really the only thing that she knew about him. She wasn't listening to _all_ of his words, of course, and she never did, but she faded back in when it counted- when she could pick up what he said by context. "...the kid hasn't been wasting any time," he was murmuring, and she chewed the end of her pencil. "if the river-person actually takes them where they need to go, might even be less than an hour before they make it to the core."

She had never been given updates on their progress before. She had never asked him. She wondered what made this so different. Her furry lips- if they could actually be called that- parted "Are you going to keep watching them?"

He coughed, and he said, "figure that's what i should do. ... dunno, though."

"I see." Perhaps it was simply beginning to be too much for him. She understood that feeling. That was why she thought that he should have sent the human home, to the home that they wanted, right from the start. Why did she expect him to succeed where she had failed? "Mmm... mmm... mmmm..." Little noises that started coming from her tightly closed mouth, before she even noticed.

She chewed on the end of her pencil until there was no end. She pictured the human going through the Core, all sweaty from the heat and assaulted by monsters on all sides, as they had surely been assaulted through their entire journey. She pictured them going past the Core, right up into her husband's castle. Her eyes wide, staring without a hope of blinking, she pressed a hand over her face so that she wouldn't have to see. She hoped that they still had the pie she packed them. Did that nice young other Sans ever try some? He never did tell her what his favorite flavor was.

"...l-lady?"

"...? ...What...?" What did he want? What could he want?

"wanna hear a joke?" She didn't say anything, so he went on regardless, "how d'you get baby dip?"

A joke? Her eyes were still unblinking, but she mechanically answered, "I do not know. How do you get baby dip?"

From the other side of the door he snickered and said, "put a baby in a blender."

Her eyes squeezed shut when she started to laugh, pressing her hands over her mouth to try and quell it. Her laugh was embarrassingly loud, uncontrollable, more of a cackling really, and after a moment she let it go on unimpeded. She could have sworn that she heard that joke before, but she didn't know where or when and it didn't really matter. "Oh no, oh, oh no," were the only things that she said, she heard him laughing too. Put a baby in a blender.

Come to think of it, where did one get baby carrots? Baby corn? So much food was named after babies, you might think that people had an obsession with eating them. What did babies even taste like?

With her giggles subsided, though, she was better but not great. She pressed her hand the cold door. "Oh, Sans..." she found herself warbling, and his laughter stopped too. "That child is not going to make it. And yet I am not ready to see the surface again."

"th-they might make it," he stammered, but he didn't sound convinced. "n-nothin's stopped 'em so far."

"Mm... mmmmm..." Came the noises again.

This time he had no joke for her, but that was all right. He had told more than enough without her saying any back. It wouldn't be fair. But after several minutes of silence, silence except for the noises she made, he did end up saying something. "i-i-it might not be my business... b-but..."

"Yes?" She whispered, shocked by how quiet her voice was.

"w-well... you always seem so down. y-you might feel better if you left those stuffy... d-dark ruins once in a while, y'know?"

That wasn't even enough to get her polite, confused laughter. Her hand, as it dragged down the door, left pale lines from her claws and smudge marks as her palms wiped away a stream of soot. "I am sorry... I do not get it."

"i-it wasn't a joke. uh, more like- uh, friendly advice?"

The lady stopped speaking entirely, her voice lost. Her body felt heavy and her lungs heavier, unable to breathe or see. Her staring eyes took over again, and she left that voice hanging there, out in the cold of Snowdin Forest. "Oh," she mouthed at last, but as that implied it was inaudible. Had she had this conversation before? Or was that simply how it felt to her, at this very moment? Life was full of little moments like that. Humans had a lovely phrase for it. " _Deja vu_." Was that France? France was a country that ate snails. She had always wanted to go...

His voice prodded in, as it always did, with words that entered her dark world. "lady...? are you still there?"

She said nothing.

"... d.. did you want me t'give ya more information about the kid?"

Again, nothing. She lifted her blackened hand to her face, her pure white fur blemished. She slowly began wiping her hands together, but all that achieved was getting her other giant paw smudged.

"l-listen," he said. His voice got louder, and her eyes moved back to the door. "i gotta head home. th' boss is gonna be looking for me, and he's kind of pissed at me as it is. i'll come back later. okay?"

She nodded, not remembering he couldn't see.

"... uhhh... yeah... so... uh... 'bye."

Sighing, she rested her head against the door to the ruins long after he left, smoke exiting out from past her lips as she played with her own magic. It was still beyond the door now, without any soul in sight, human or monster. Lots of monsters were at home, watching their television screens in anticipation. The finale of Mettaton's TV series, the long awaited conclusion, was airing tonight.

The Ruins door to Snowdin...

Cracked open a little.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Hello! Welcome all to my next fanfiction in the Bunny Fell-Fell series, which I may or may not be hastily posting the first chapter of. This time around I can't promise to stay strictly to my deadlines, since as I said before I'll be pretty busy over the next few months, but I have quite the urge to keep going. If possible, I will be updating each Saturday.

If anyone's joining in who hasn't read the first fic, you probably should go read The Many Worlds Theory Sucks, although I suppose it may not be completely necessary to. This is essentially a fanfiction about a pacifist Underfell run, but because of the events of the last fic, quite a few things will be different.

 **Next Chapter:** Bright Lights


	2. Bright Lights

Having been in the Core once before, although only getting as far as the first few enemies, Frisk was expecting the overwhelming heat and hum of machinery that hit her upon entry. It was emanating from far below the floor, the source impossible to see just yet. Although she was anticipating it, she still had to grit her teeth and take a moment after stepping inside. She could feel Flowey withering on her back, also finding the heat unpleasant and no doubt wishing that he could return to the cool dirt.

In some ways, the Core was like Hotland itself in how unbearable it was; even the interior was that same eyesore red- although was a little bit darker, like blood. But the heat and coloration, at the moment, was where the similarities stopped. Instead of crags, rocks, and crack lines all along the surface, the floor was smooth painted metal and lined with some kind of circuitry, much like the walls... little glass tubes of some glowing material were occasionally fixed there like chemistry test tubes. With all of the machinery, the sharp threatening symbols above each doorway, and the neon colored lights, it was unlike any other environment she'd walked through.

And it was difficult. Not only was it swarming with monsters, all of them working for Metatton, but it was a maze that constantly rearranged itself. That was what Sans told her, and it showed by how easy it was for her to get lost. Puzzles and lasers slowed her progression wherever she went. The first time she went there, she had gotten sick of it within the first half hour, with Alphys taunting her in texts over the phone on every other step. Coupled with her fear of facing Mettaton again, it was just too much and she left that place for a "break".

Perhaps this time around it would be different, though. Flowey wasn't with her during that first excursion, after all, and now this time Alphys hadn't made a peep.

Even Flowey noticed that something was off. He only said something after they had gone a little ways, past a glass-floor walkway with a black abyss below it. Some parts of the wall were chipped off in large chunks, exposing a thick gold metal tubing, and Frisk examined it with mild curiosity; it was too hot to touch. The flower poked his head out of the neck of her sweater while she kissed her fingers, tilting back and forth. "It's pretty quiet in here today, isn't it?"

Quiet wasn't the word that she would use, if only because of the sounds in her head and the sounds of the machines. "Don't get comfortable," she muttered as she stood, sniffing ozone. "Eventually we'll run into the monsters that I haven't scared off."

"I guess," was all Flowey said, and he ducked back out of sight. Frisk wondered if he was making her look like she had a hunchback when he was curled up in there.

She had quit when passing very very carefully through a conveyor belt of lasers the last time, which hadn't been that far in. She was expecting a text from Alphys at any moment, laughing about how there would be no way for her to get through all of the blue and orange attacks (there was a way, she definitely wasn't scared of Alphys, but it was just too time-consuming.) But when Frisk stepped into the room, she found a surprise waiting for her instead: none of the lasers were on.

"... Huh?"

"What?" Flowey rose up, not seeing what was wrong. "Why did you stop?"

"There's supposed to be a trap here."

"Oh. Huh?" The flower tilted into her vision. "Well I don't see it. You should hurry before it comes back on."

He had a point. It could be a temporary power outage for all she knew. "Right!" So Frisk kept running again, eyeing the little orbs lining the walls that fired each laser with anticipation. Ultimately, none of them turned on and for the first time she went into the next room.

What hit her next was that the heat got even worse. The child began to sweat, and she fumbled for a water bottle that Sans gave her right before she left, her throat becoming parched instantly. "Oh my god, it's hot as balls in here!" She ended up exclaiming, and she heard Flowey give a little whine. She let him take a sip from the water bottle too, although it was difficult when his face was so flat. "Holy fucking hell."

"M-m-maybe this is what hell feels like," whispered Flowey.

The heat was coming from a searing white light from beneath their feet, the child standing on a metal walkway that branched out ahead onto different walkways, and into different rooms. She suddenly got the feeling that she was standing near the center of the Core. The core of the Core. Frisk walked forward into a little hall that branched into the different walkways, where the walls afforded them a little bit of protection from the white light's heat. Some of the exposed tubing from this room was chipped away, revealing a third layer of electrical wiring. Frisk shook her head; nobody took very good care of this place, did they?

Flowey looked at their options, left and right and forward. "Wh-where do we go from here?"

Frisk groaned as she read electronic signs posted for either direction. This looked like another puzzle in this rearranging maze of a building. "We'll figure it out..."

No matter the direction, the two of them walked out over the painfully white heat, already anxious of what came next.

* * *

It wasn't just the lasers across the conveyor belt that were shut off, though. They quickly realized that it was everything. Every puzzle, every trap, even ones where it was obvious there was supposed to be something there, they were all deactivated.

Nothing impeded them, nothing stopped Frisk from digging through the trash in one room and finding a whole Deathburger somebody had thrown away, nothing moved or changed to make them lost while they explored those walkways. No traps. There was a big black panel in one room that Frisk suspected was the site of a shooting game puzzle, like the ones she had completed in Hotland, but there is nothing on it now. She found the switch in one room and nothing happened when she clicked it.

There were no monsters to attack them, either.

The child and her flower friend strolled down a walkway bathed in the white light, the first one to have railings on both sides, and considered things. "I would've thought we'd be jumped by somebody by now," Frisk spoke while chugging water, her voice a whisper as if afraid somebody was listening.

"H-h-hey, Frisk..."

She could feel her friend's vines tightening around her waist and arms, the flower shivering while he spoke. Irritated and plucking at one tendril, she said, "Spit it out, Flowey."

"I-I just," he sputtered, loosening his grip on her. "C-can't help but feel that something's- off, about all this. Th-that something's... broken."

"Broken?"

There was a wall where they came to a stop, occupied by an open doorway and an elevator. The floor in front of them was occupied by a little miracle, she could feel it faintly. Frisk checked the elevator first, as Flowey continued, "W-well, we- when we left this world- even if it was for a little while- d-do you think that it might have broken something in it? And now maybe things aren't...t-the way that they should be?"

"I don't think anything's _broken_ , Flowey," the child insisted, although she couldn't help feeling a little anxious. Even if the world wasn't broken, the elevator sure was. "Worlds don't break."

"M-maybe..."

She turned her head as much as she could to scowl at him. "They _don't_. I call bullshit!"

He chuckled weakly. "O-okay."

He was a worrywart as always, but suddenly Frisk was convinced that this was being caused by something more. She could hear faint noises beyond that doorway, although they were being drowned out by the machinery. First, she wanted to attend to the little miracle. "I will admit, I'm not as certain what we're going to do now, though."

"... Y-you mean because Asgore isn't here anymore?"

Putting in like that made it sound like he was already dead. But if he was, then Frisk would be in even worse trouble. Right after getting back from that kinder other world (which she decided to call the Blue World,) some of the terrified and confused monsters in Snowdin confirmed what Undyne told them before; King Asgore was missing. The Sans she met when he was dragged to her world- the lazier one with a blue eye instead of red- had beaten him near to a pulp and, according to the monsters, "sent him away" somehow.

She wanted to ask Blue Sans where he sent the King, but it seemed that he didn't know either. "just away from me," was all he'd said in explanation.

In any case, if the king wasn't at his castle, was there even a point to going there? Her own Sans seemed to think so. Making it there would at least prove something to the other monsters. But it wouldn't help her go home. She needed Asgore to go home.

Just thinking about that, and what it entailed, made her shudder. So to Flowey, Frisk only said, "Be quiet. I need to do something."

He went silent while she knelt, clasping her hands together, and summoned her courage.

And with a flash a snapshot of this world lodged in her heart.

 _You smell ozone and blood in the air._

 _You're filled with uncertainty._

 _Your game has been SAVED._

Frisk stood up. "I can't think of anywhere better he'd be than licking his wounds in his own house. Can you?"

"I s-suppose," Flowey whimpered, hiding again when Frisk strode quickly through the doorway. They had more urgent things to worry about than something as simple as where the demonic and terrifying king of the monsters was hiding.

The walkway that they stepped out onto was dark, and not colored by neon lights or white heat like the rest. In fact, compared to the rest of the Work, it was actually pretty cool in this new room. The two of them breathed a collective sigh of relief while they walked, at least until the cellphone that Frisk carried in her pocket beeped loudly and suddenly, startling her. After sharing a look with Flowey, she tentatively checked to see who would be sending her a message at a time like this.

 _Alphys sent you a text!: ._. Did you... srsly make it all the way there already -.-_

 _Alphys sent you another text!: I worked so hard on those traps .-._

They only took another step before the sharp beep came again.

 _Alphys sent you another text!: WHAT WTF WHY ARE THEY ALL OFF? WTF_

Frisk shut off her phone. "Jesus."

"You k-keep saying that, b-but, uh, what is Jesus?"

"Oh just shut up," Frisk snapped, and kept going.

From the walkway they stepped onto a large black arena, one that was swathed in shadows and had another walkway leading into blackness on the other side. Although Frisk had never gotten this far, she had a sudden foreboding feeling as soon as she got into it, the echoes of her shoes on the floor sounding loud in her ears. Very quietly, Flowey whimpered and retreated into her sweater again, which was another bad omen. Before the child had gone into the center of the arena, thought that she could make out a tall shape, one that was obscured as a silhouette but resembled a box...

A box with arms.

"Shit!" Frisk screeched, turning to run back the way that she had come-only to find that a huge gate had closed back and blocked her path to the walkway. She was trapped in the arena.

Bright lights flickered on above them all, and the child shielded her eyes as she looked back at Mettaton-for she could mistake that robot for no one else, a glorified gigantic calculator with four deadly-looking arms and a wheel for feet. His lights were all flashing red, and he held two microphones in hand. Frisk pressed back to the edge of the gate while he spoke into them with that booming deep voice. " _LLLLAAAAAAADIES AND GENTLEMEN!_ "

Frisk had a flashback of almost being baked into a cake and bile rose in her mouth. Her body trembled before she had time to think to herself that she wasn't afraid of anything Mettaton had to offer, to lie to herself.

From the bright illuminating lights, Frisk and Flowey saw their own reflections in camera screens; while they were being recorded, Mettaton was going on through the resounding microphone, " _This_ is the moment that all of you have been waiting for for days, nay, weeks! From the moment this human fell down into our midst, you've watched their progress, matching wits with quizzes and baking recipes, narrowly avoiding death by explosion... and much more."

The floor under her feet quivered.

 _You equip the Burnt Pan._

The lights of Mettaton's front began to flash in a random sequence. "And now it's time for the thrilling conclusion to their story... the ultimate conclusion!"

"What are you doing?"

The robot moved one mic from one hand to the other. A little quieter, he asked, "Come again?"

Frisk swallowed, holding on to a fragile hope, as for once she tried to talk it out, "This... this show... King Asgore is missing, isn't he? So you don't need to kill me for him. Right? You don't nee-"

" _Ohh_ , I'm _very aware_ of that," chuckled the machine. "Everyone is talking about it. But you misunderstand what that means for you, honey." Frisk felt like she was going to be sick, and he tossed his microphones into opposite hands with a dramatic flourish; a juggler at heart. "With no king to demand it, that essentially means that your SOUL is up for grabs. Anybody can take it and use it.

"And who better than I?" Mettaton wheeled closer and Frisk slammed her burnt pan into the ground between them, the sudden loud sound making him stop and laugh in that crazed electronic voice. "Yes, _you_ know. I can get out of this place. I can be the savior of my dear audience, and crush those _**fillllthy**_ humans like you!"

Flowey's thorny vines were digging into Frisk's skin again as the flower trembled, but she barely felt them.

"I disabled the traps and called off the other monsters so that nothing would stand in your way... leading you right to me. Nobody else is going to take your heart but me." As the child exchanged a worried glance with her flower, he added, "Especially since, as I've learned recently, even killing you doesn't seem to do very much. Does it, sweetie?"

"It really doesn't-"

" _But!_ " He cut off her choking words. "... But..."

And then everything began to change very suddenly, and all at once. The arena that they were standing on started to shake, cameras and all, until it shot high into the air at a speed that knocked Frisk on her butt, with the girl giving out a sharp yelp. The platform that they were standing on was rising, revealing itself as a big black tower that the three of them were all standing on. The child was terrified that at any moment the arena was going to smash into the ceiling and crush them, but as of yet it hadn't.

As it lifted up, up into the darkness, in front of her Mettaton transformed.

The middle casing around his mostly square body segmented into pieces and retracted. It exposed more glinting metal that was, when not chrome or more black, painted vibrant shades of red and gold- the metal was now protruding and unfolding with no box to get in its way. His four arms let the microphones fall as they shot to the ground and supported him during this transformation, and for a moment Frisk thought that he looked like a faceless dog before two long and sturdy legs unfolded and stamped on the ground. The little wheel folding into his body, Metatton stood at a fuller height and towered over his two opponents. He was beginning to look more human, more like the Metatron that she had seen just once in Alphys' lab. His midsection extended to reveal the heart in a cage, and his four-eyed face with shining black hair flipped into place on his head.

The transformation was complete. The only thing left of the original Mettaton was those four arms- and two of them had replaced the microphones he discarded with a big red gas-powered chainsaw.

The platform had lifted into a chamber that Frisk never saw before, and that she couldn't even guess was part of the Core (it was at least cooler.) It was huge concert hall, or at least that was the only word she could use to describe it, with cameras everywhere and bright spotlights blaring down on them. Rows of monsters were watching them and cheering from the audience seats, and all the blood drained out of Frisk's face.

With his sharp teeth Mettaton smiled at the child, who with a grim look in her eyes most certainly did not smile back.

Chainsaw in his hands revving, and with four red eyes flashing, the killer robot standing in front of her said, "For my fans, let's give this a go anyway. Shall we?"

* * *

 **Next Chapter:** Scorch Marks


	3. Scorch Marks

How many tally marks did Mettaton rack up on that day, with his chainsaw and maniacal pursuit of the child across the arena? How many times did he crush their bones with a well-placed kick? How many times did he make his announcement to all of monsterkind, reveal his transformed self to shocked spectators, and infuriate Alphys in her lab?

The inhabitants of the Kingdom of Monsters didn't know. They would not know. All that they knew was what they saw on their screens.

There was one up over the bar in Grillby'z right at that moment, actually. A big flatscreen with quite high definition, such as one may see in an expensive sports bar- only instead of sports, it showed a death arena.

All of the monsters who didn't have a TV at home simply had come there to watch the final installment of A Show With a Killer Robot: Season 1, all obligated of course to buy a drink from the proprietor as his condition for their entertainment. Normally he didn't like to have a television in his bar, as he believed it drew the wrong type of crowd at times, but obviously this was a special occasion. Grillby himself didn't watch; he had too many customers to serve. But he did listen, both to the noise from the television and the noise from his patrons. It was a thick crowd, so that gave him a lot to listen to.

Up on the screen the human child was running around the arena trying not to get cut in half by the new and improved Mettaton, with what appeared to be a flower sprouting from their back screaming directions at them in a panic. It wasn't just the chainsaw that they had to worry about; there were plenty of attacks, in the shape of little drones, that were firing and landing blows on the child. However often they were struck to the ground, it didn't take them that long to stand up. That was how it had been on every other show with them in it, whether they are trying to climb an impossibly large series of towers or defuse bombs they were actively bruising the human with hard knocks.

Occasionally the damage would be too much and they would eat something. Red Bird exclaimed once, pointing at the television, "The human's eating a Deathburger!"

That inspired a lot of laughter. "What bad taste. I like the burgers here better," added White Drake, and there was even more guffaws from the other monsters.

Grillby knew that. Deathburgers were disgusting. And if what he had observed over time was any indication, the human preferred his food here too- but he figured in their case, beggars couldn't be choosers. He continued his duties- scrubbing a dirty tankard for one of the customers- and listened to the soothing sounds of the chainsaw revving up and the human screaming, the audience cheering with every contact between child and robot.

Occasionally the clang of metal alerted them all that the human had landed a blow against Mettaton, even though sometimes it was hard to see with the zooming, ever-changing camera angles. Each time they hit, Mettaton would laugh and strike them down with his boot heel, landing swift kicks any time the child hesitated. During these moments where the two clashed the crowd would jeer at the screen, and one plantlike monster even got ready to throw their drink at it, before seeing Grillby burn almost white-hot and thinking better of it.

Grillby half-wondered who was the one being jeered. But he had drinks to serve and customers who were paying for them- and without the threat of death, no less.

He wasn't much of a TV watcher. Still, he himself did like to listen to the human making use of that Burnt Pan. Just a little bit, the blue flame that comprised his head wavered, and the very tip cooled to an orange color. There seemed less need to be so uptight today.

* * *

Undyne's house was still a mess, with broken plates and food scattered all over the floor. She hadn't had the energy to clean it up since the day that the human ransacked it, and since then the mess had only gotten worse with her own frustrations and more messes that she now couldn't be bothered to clean up. What did it matter? Nobody was going to come make a surprise inspection of her abode anymore.

She hadn't had the time to straighten her house back up either, since she also wanted to watch the finale of Mettaton's show and wouldn't let anything keep her. She couldn't help but be curious about the human that was going to star in it.

The show had been going on for only a little while before Undyne wasn't alone any longer, the door to her abode opening and slamming. She didn't turn to check who it was- the laughter of that old coot from down the road was very familiar to her. Undyne shook her head when she heard him say, "There you are. ...In your house. Did you decide to quit the dueling business?"

"It's kind of a mess in here, gramps," she snapped. "I have to clean it up before I do any sparring, okay?"

No need to tell him that, because of that damned human, she was fired from the Royal Guard today. So there was no reason for her to spar with anyone, and no point to dueling anybody ever again.

She just stared at the TV screen, scowling at herself. The human kept getting back up no matter how often that robot fired shots at them with his tiny umbrella-wielding droids, and each time it looked like their head would be cut off they seemed to know exactly where to move their body out of the way. Where did this energy come from? This... predictive skill? It was there in their fight too. Undyne couldn't understand.

"Wa ha ha! You don't seem to be doing a good job on that front," Gerson chortled, and Undyne snarled.

"I'm watching Mettaton, old man, lay off!"

The old tortoise chuckled his off-kilter chuckle to himself, picking up a broken plate and dusting it off. "I could use one of these." He trodded up behind Undyne's chair and peered over her shoulder at the child on the screen. They were pulling down their eyelid and sticking their tongue out at the camera, taunting all the viewers. "Oh, dear, it's that stripey brat that you were asking me about!"

Undyne put a thumb down and blew a raspberry at the screen. "Dumb kid." Mettaton whacked them in the back of the head with the flat of his chainsaw and Undyne laughed when they skidded to the ground with a yelp.

"Now what do you suppose they're doing all the way in Hotland?" Gerson said, scratching his chin with a dull look in his eyes. "Haven't been this bold in a while."

"How the hell should I know? Must just be feeling brave because the king's missing," Undyne snapped, and Gerson nodded sagely.

From the TV screen they both heard the child's scratchy voice call out a boast as they flourished the burnt pan in their hands, "No way you're hitting me this turn!"

"Oh, so brave!" Cackled Mettaton as he stretched out his long arms to catch them, the two that weren't wielding the chainsaw. From the fizzing TV screen, the two monsters watched the human get smacked to the ground again and hoisted up by their shirt front, as the robot grinned at them with his sharp teeth. "Be careful what you say on the air, sweetie."

Undyne again pointed down her thumb and blew a raspberry, accepting a cup of crabapple tea that Gerson handed her. She drank noisily, watching the human surely get a couple ribs broken from beneath her half-closed eyelids. With decreasing strength, the child again taunted the camera, cursing out the audience that was watching them be thrown around like a rag doll. Undyne couldn't help laughing.

"Can't help thinking of something..." Gerson said quietly.

The fish monster swallowed her tea. The flower on the child's back was yanking them out of range of another droid when it dive-bombed them. "Huh?"

And suddenly the tortoise burst out laughing. "Wa ha ha ha ha ha! This stuff is disgusting. I'm going home."

She snorted. "See ya, gramps."

"Don't stay up so late..." He said as he went to the entrance.

Undyne's only response was to sneer at the screen. "Oh my god they're eating a Deathburger, they must really be desperate."

Gerson shut the door. Undyne finished her tea and kept watching, kept laughing more and more as the fight went on.

As the human kept going.

* * *

Six pairs of hands dunked six cookies into six pots of milk, a little tongue licking pointed fangs as several pairs of eyes watched the spectacle onstage. Muffet wasn't the only one who was interested, however. Tucked cozily into her spider web, all of her playmate spiders were watching with her-some had climbed into her hair, some were watching from the table that was full of milk and cookies, and some were swimming in bottles of whiskey. Because getting drunk was really the best way to watch everything Mettaton did.

Up above the screen, straining to see, even her victims weren't wriggling quite so much from where she had them wrapped up. Even so, one of them was being quite noisy. "Yo! Let me down, please? I wanna see!"

"Be quiet," Muffet hissed. "Mettaton is talking!"

Leo, a monster child in a torn striped shirt, was not one to be still or to be quiet- especially in a situation like this. Putting aside completely that Muffet was planning to feed him, as well as Aaron and Doggo, to her pet spider when the show was over, that kid on the TV screen was familiar to him.

A cool kid that he had massively screwed things up with. He should have figured they would meet not only Undyne without him, but Mettaton too. They were always the lucky one, getting to hang out with all those celebrities. "But I can barely hear him! C'mon at least lower me a little!"

"Sh!" Doggo hissed at him, and the boy stopped short. It seemed that the soldier was currently in the process of getting one hand free, at least, with the knives he always carried. The web was sticking to his knife quite a bit, though. Likely the only reason the vibrations weren't being noticed by Mufeet was because of how preoccupied the show made her. "Don't draw attention to us. Where's the big spider right now?"

Leo craned his head and gave a disgusted sigh. "I dunno. ...Come on I wanna see the show too!"

With six limbs, Mettaton wasn't that bad looking to her. Muffet could listen to him for hours while he struck chainsaw blades against a frying pan, an unlikely swordfight while he forced the human in circles around the arena.

"You see, my whole existence revolves around you!" He screeched with a manic smile, on one instance where his face came particularly close to the human's. "I was created to fight you, to face you, a bloodthirsty dangerous human like you!"

The human pushed him away and ran. "Fuck you!"

"But you're not so scary, are you?" Roared the robot in his booming, electronic voice. Chasing after her. Accidentally cutting one of the cameras in half before its use- the live feed cut out for a moment. "-only got a little lucky with all those other challenges I gave you! Only cheated a little bit! But this time no matter how you cheat, you can't- you can't-" He seemed to glitch, like a broken record.

The human stopped his finishing by throwing an empty bottle of Adult Lemonade at his forehead, and he yelped. "Oh ho you cheeky little rat," he said as he rubbed his face, feeling for any potential dents. His hands brushed over his third and four eyes and there was the faintest shudder through his body.

Muffet adored his four eyes, one less than as she had.

"You're going to love being inside me," Mettaton continued, dragging the child to him by the back of their sweater. The human only struggled, swinging at his arms with their pan but missing each time, hardly able to swing behind themself. He grabbed one arm and twirled them around to face him. "When our SOULs have merged into one, and I become the most powerful being in the underground! Oh how I've thought about it, fantasized about it."

"Forget it!" One strike did the trick, and they were released again.

"And when we're together, I'm sure we can find the other human SOULs too, wherever Asgore has hidden them," he continued on, unperturbed while he sent more droids shooting after the small child. "We'll become a god. I'm sure my fans would love to see that! The idol everyone already worships can become a being... worthy of even more worship!" He scratched the arena floor with his chainsaw, just missing the human's foot. He revved it up again. "Think about it! You'd be lovely as one of my pets. A star in your own right!"

Muffet surely was thinking about it, her heart fluttering at the thought. If anyone could do it, it was Mettaton.

The child made a disgusted face. "You're full of shit and so are your fans."

The robot clicked his tongue, wagging a pointed finger at the child. "That's not very polite, darling. I don't think we're really on the same page just yet." And as he said so, and while the human was wiping blood from their mouth, the cage that housed his metal-encased heart changed. It unlocked, and the air around him began to sparkle with a blue energy, a dancing electricity. As his heart drifted free of the cage, the source was clear. The bolts of electricity were shooting from his heart itself, licking the walls of the arena.

"We need to have a real heart to heart," Mettaton said.

The human's face drained of all color. "Don't," they said.

"Sorry my dear, but there's no need to be afraid," he said, his free hands clawing down his own face while he continued to smile. "Like I said. Soon we'll be together inside this body, and you won't mind at all."

How many times did Muffet watch the human die?

She didn't remember. No one did.

One time something else happened, and Muffet's eyes opened wide while Mettaton was talking, clawing at himself. It wasn't the fact that her prisoners had just cut themselves down and were making a hasty exit, with Doggo clamping a paw over Leo's loudly protesting mouth.

But instead it was on the screen. The flower growing out of the human child's back did something while Mettaton's heart fired bolts of electricity at them. His face warping into something she couldn't make out with this camera angle, and he shot a white seed.

And the white seed hit Mettaton's heart.

The electricity struck the cameras, and for a moment the live feed cut out again.

* * *

When it came back on again, a black little ghost with the most unpleasant expression had drifted to their TV set to watch. They had been pretending not to watch this entire time, alone in this dark house.

The screen flickered to life with Mettaton on the ground, his legs popped off completely. Chainsaw discarded, he was propping himself up on his four arms, one of his four eyes twitching in a pained wince.

"Well," he said. "I didn't see that coming."

The human raised a hand to the flower on their back, weakly patting its petals, and backed away slowly from the center of the arena. "You lost," they said in a much quieter voice. They turned right after, eyes scanning the audience- for another foe, or for an exit out of that place, the little ghost was unsure. The ghost's eyes were instead on Mettaton, as likely everyone was. "You stupid..." They whispered alone, in their dark house.

Mettaton coughed and reached again for the chainsaw. "I lost...?" He repeated, crawling forward a few paces with his four limbs. "But, darling..." His red eyes glowed. "The battle isn't over yet."

The human half-turned, face just as pale as it had been getting while the fight bore on. Mettaton reached out one hand- one red-gloved hand, with an arm that began to extend and stretch impossibly long- and he snatched the human by the leg. "After all," he hissed.

"Ẁho̶͜ ̸́n̡͢e̡̕eds̵̡ ͏̨͏l̶eg͠͞s͠ ͡͏w̸͜i̸̢t̸̷̕h̶̛ ́͟a̷҉r͡ḿs̴̀ ̸̧͞l̵i̸ķ͢e͠ ̨t̴h̷́e̸s̕͞e͘?̷͢"

The human screamed, their leg pulled out from under them. They struck the ground front-first and their scream stopped, replaced by a yelp of agony while the burnt pan fell out of their grasp. Even that yelp became more screaming while Mettaton began to retract his arm back in, dragging the human closer and closer to him.

Of course, they struggled. They tried to pull themself back, but the arena floor was a mostly smooth surface. They pan was quickly out of their reach, and all the human had to fight with were their arms and legs. They started to shout, "No! No! No! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Mettaton pushed his heavy body into a mostly upright position with one noodle-like arm, clearly having to push hard with no legs to support himself anymore. In another hand, his chainsaw revved and swung erratically. He added another arm to bring his prey closer, grabbing one of the human's wrists and pulling hard. The human screeched, yanked upright themselves. "Sorry, darling..."

"Not sorry enough," the ghost whispered bitterly.

But out of the human's back there was growing a flower, and while the human screamed and struggled in a panic the flower grew out to face Mettaton. It smiled with a mouth that resembled a monster skull, eyes black as pitch. It shot out another seed, one that lodged into the cage of Mettaton's heart, and there was another snap of electricity.

Even that attempt of his, in the end, was a foolish saving throw. Two of Mettaton's arms popped off, and the human was free while he groaned in pain, his voice distorted with electricity. The robot fell over again, too exhausted to even use his remaining arms to support himself. He threw himself on his back instead with a heavy clang.

The human, in the meantime, dashed to the edge of the arena. They-

No, Blooky knew their name, remembered it just now. They heard the flower call them that, once.

Frisk stood in front of the cameras, sweater torn and hair wild, eyes wild, trying to catch their own breath. They took both hands and made what was likely the most obscene gesture they could think of, their dark eyes burning at the audience by the arena and those looking through their televisions. Little by little, all the cuts and injuries from the battle were disappearing all over their skin.

The hushed silence that began when Mettaton's legs fell off broke. Everyone started hooting and hollering.

And then Mettaton chuckled weakly behind the human, startling them. "Oh. Look at that... we reached our ratings milestone."

Frisk turned around. From back in his dark home, Blooky's eyes widened.

And the platform started to slowly sink down, out of the gigantic chamber. The only thing that showed them to the audience now was a single camera, and now the monsters who had probably paid a fortune to see Mettaton live were having to scramble to find a TV.

Meanwhile Mettaton continued to laugh, holding his face with his remaining hands. "These ratings are so high... everyone in the underground must be watching us. Watching you. Mmm...

"It's now time," he added louder, "for the reward that all of you get, for being such loyal fans. Before this battle's finished forever, one of you will get the chance to anonymously call in on our show. So hurry, everyone. Dial the number flashing on the screen."

Blooky's eyes got very wide, and they floated up from the chair. The little ghost zipped around their dark house, cursing that it was dark enough to make it hard to see the ghost phone. The whole time that TV screen kept on going, with that voice coming out of it. Little by little it seemed to be degrading, still effected and malfunctioning by the electricity. "You'll only get one chance... t-to say how you really feel... so call in, before this human over here does something stupid.

"Now."

* * *

 **Next Chapter:** To All My Fans


	4. To All My Fans

The stage was still lowering even now, so Frisk didn't have anywhere to go. She just sat catching her breath, letting everything heal by virtue of her Temmie Armor, and watched Mettaton in the center. He was still holding his face, a manic and twisted smile on his face as if plastered there while the two of them- three, counting the cowering Flowey- waited for the call to come in. Frisk continued breathing hard, waiting for all of the blows she'd taken to dissipate, waiting for the pain to stop. She could hardly care less about some phone call in to this sadist show. But she had nowhere to run, nowhere to go until the stage went back to normal.

They didn't wait long before there came a ringing from Mettaton's chest, where small holes were placed like a phone receiver. He pressed a button, smiling over at Frisk while on his back, and there came a _click._ "Hello! You're on the air! Share your thoughts with us, anonymous caller!"

The voice on the other end was distorted, so she didn't recognize it. All the same, Mettaton froze on the first word. It was a slow voice, a quiet one. "hey... Mettaton... first time caller, long time watcher..."

"Go ahead, caller," Mettaton said, as Frisk crept closer to his immobile body. Flowey tightened his vines again around her, shivering, but the child kicked away the chainsaw first and foremost.

With the cameras rolling, the caller continued. "my life isn't all that great... i don't have any friends or family anymore, really... but..." There was a noise, like a deep breath, on the other end of the line, and those soft words were almost impossible for Frisk to hear without getting closer to the robot. "...in spite of all that... ... your show was the worst part of it all."

The very center of Mettaton's eyes seemed to get smaller, his frozen grin growing wide. "W-what?"

"...seeing you on the screen everyday... doing all this tasteless shit... hurting people... ... i really hated it. it made me feel even worse... ... knowing that..." The voice trailed off, and Mettaton's smile turned into a frozen grimace. But then it went back up again, just as Frisk thought that it might have ended the call. "... well, anyway. i know that we're supposed to live by... kill or be killed... but we don't have to pretend... that we like it. i really think you're... disgusting..."

Frisk and Flowey exchanged looks, and glanced to the cameras. Were they still recording all this?

"... anyway..." breathed the little voice. "i'm just glad that... i guess, you might not be on the air anymore? that's all i wanted to say.

"...bye... Mettaton..."

"Wait!" Mettaton screeched suddenly as the call faded; all four of his eyes were open as wide as they could go, and his mouth was no longer frozen, "Wait! Don't go! Nap-"

 _Click!_

Just like that the call was over. The look that was on this killer robot's face was something neither Frisk or Flowey had ever seen before. She almost wondered if, underneath the spikes and red paint, he was another person altogether. His bloodshot and yellow eyes swung back and forth for a moment, as if no longer aware that the child was sitting right next to them and seeking them out.

When his gaze fixed on Frisk again, he took a deep breath. "They hung up..." And then he began to laugh, a mechanical laughter fitting a machine. "Well... _fuck you too_ , Napstablook."

The dark ghost that she ran into once in the ruins fluttered on the corner of Frisk's memory. "Napstablook?"

But the moment had passed and Mettaton was already ignoring her, his manic grin plastered back in place. He was speaking quickly now, pushing himself a little bit upright on both hands. "I-I've changed the rules! I want more callers. I want more anonymous callers. Please, call in, now is your chance! Call in before this show is over..."

His chest immediately began to ring, and the first call picked up. "I'm with the last caller, I really can't stand your show!"

And then the next call picked up, "I honestly just wish you'd die and leave us alone." "You're always bullying people! Like that poor human on your show!" "Yeah you should just leave them alone, not to mention-" More and more they came calling, their voices like a wave bursting from the phone lines. All while Mettaton fell back, continuing to laugh his distorted laugh, continuing to hold onto his face- scratching it with sharp claws.

Frisk's face had gone pale, clasping her hands over her stomach as complaint after complaint went in on the show. Some of the voices were familiar to her, some of them like no one she had ever heard before, and Mettaton laughed louder with each call that came, no matter the complaint. The screaming was too loud, the decor was too bland, the plots were too formulaic, he was too horrible a person... and it was as if he had gone mad. Frisk was grateful that the chainsaw was out of his reach, but then she recalled how his arms had extended and tried to toss it over the side of the arena instead. It was way too heavy.

One call shut him up, and made Frisk stop short, too. It was the loudest one. "HUMAN!" The child jumped. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO! YOU CAN STAY HERE IF YOU WANT! YOU DON'T HAVE TO LEAVE THROUGH THE BARRIER! I'LL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THAT NO ONE EVER- SANS I'M TRYING TO MAKE A PHONE CALL!"

"so much for anonymous-" crackled another voice on the same line. "- _ow_ -"

"SHUT UP!"

But before she even had time to process it, another call interfered in its place. "THAT'S RIGHT the human's leaving because of you! But they beat you, right? They can just kill you and stay-"

Frisk yelped, "I'm not gonna-!"

"Please stay, human," said another voice on the line. "We don't want you to go."

"You'll leave a hole in my heart, human!"

"...They were pretty clever to get past Mettaton so many times... I wish I was that clever..."

"Please stay, we'll be better-"

"-leave us here without anyone, would you?"

"-don't go, don't go, you're so much stronger than I am-"

Frisk couldn't breathe. From where he lay on the floor, Mettaton was looking at her with an unfathomable expression no longer laughing or smiling or with a mouth twisted with pain- just a chest that was buzzing with all kinds of monsters fighting for time to speak. She choked out, while the calls continued, "M-make them stop. Please make them stop."

Mettaton pressed a button on his chest, and the arena went silent. Frisk's shaking breaths were all that could be heard, the child turning to look into the cameras that were recording her even now. Her reflection on the screen looked sweaty and messy, eyes big like saucers. Her sweater had been repaired recently, but it was already torn and ripped in places.

The robot spoke behind her, after a moment of silence, and the child gasped as she turned. "I see now." He chuckled from deep in his throat, an agonized noise, and covered his eyes. Frisk said nothing, so he peeked at her and continued, "I thought I was giving you... what you wanted. I was giving you- what you wanted-... _haha hahahahahahaha._ "

Frisk clutched and wrung the rim of her sweater, shaking still.

He smiled at her. "Darling, it looks like you're the one who has a fan base. It's a shame. I had a farewell speech planned," he mused, idly scratching at the extra eye below his marginally more normal one. "But it looks like you have your own address to make."

"Address?" She wrinkled up her face.

"To your fans, love," he said. "Say something to them. _You heard them just now._ "

Frisk took in a harsh breath and looked back at the cameras, her fingers clammy as she held them together. "...I..." Her fans... all of the monsters in the underground. Was everyone, _everyone_ , watching her just now? Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys... all of the monsters whose names were written above tally marks. All of the monsters who gave her dirty looks. Or, were they really dirty looks?

Maybe Asgore was watching too.

Being watched by so many people, the child thought she was going to throw up. Getting stage fright at a time like this... she gave a flustered laugh, covering her face, suddenly unable to stop smiling herself. Not because she was happy, by any means. Tears were pricking the corners of her eyes as well.

She spat the words out, taking her hands away and not looking into the screen any longer. "You g-guys are all r-really... fucking stupid. Because I have to leave. No matter what you want me to do. It's t-too late to stop me."

"Then my show is over," Mettaton finished for her. "And it will never air again. Toodles!" The red light on the cameras all flickered off, the recording finished.

The platform, as well, had finished sliding down into place. The three of them were inside of the Core once more, the withering heat welcome to Frisk while it washed over her. The gates of the arena had not yet lowered, however, so she wasn't sure if she was actually free to leave it. She wanted to yell at Mettaton, but he had started laughing to himself, again. She didn't understand why such miserable people kept laughing like that.

But slowly, even that died down, making the only noise the hum of the machinery. "Can I say something...?" Mettaton called out then, breaking their self-imposed silence. "Since everyone else has..."

"I'm not stopping you, you metal-plated bitch," Frisk snapped, folding her arms.

"Metal-plated _bitch_ , _well_ ," he said, chuckling. "What an introduction." Then his expression changed, his eyes turning downcast and smile disappearing. He looked at the ceiling that closed up far above them, as though it were a sky with clouds. And then he studied his remaining arms and hands. As he did, he remarked softly, "Two hands... is the right amount of hands."

The robot uttered a metallic sigh, lying still. "...The truth is, I never really hated humans." One eye flicked lazily over at Frisk. "Or you, for that matter."

"Sure didn't seem like it," the child said.

This he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's called 'acting,' darling." He put one hand on his chest. "Humans are so much better than monsters. Stronger, braver, and kinder. ...At least, that's how it looked to me. With a body like this, I thought that one day maybe I could... be... someone for humans to even look up to. They seem so very fond of metal men and superheros, don't they?"

To that, Frisk had no reply.

And Mettaton covered his face with his hands. "But they're not that fond of freaks. Or villains, for that matter."

"I like villains," the child said, blurted without even thinking. She sat down next to the robot, and he peeked at her through his fingers. "Ones that don't attack me personally, though. And I like how you look, too."

"...Do you...?"

Frisk nodded.

The maniacal, sadistic robot that had tortured her through so many tally marks had a weak smile, the weakest of all, on his face. "You said it looked ugly."

"I was ~acting~," Frisk said, tossing her hand, and Mettaton laughed uncontrollably for roughly five seconds.

When he was done the creeping remnants of the smile yet on his scratched-up face, the child stood. She had to go now, and judging by the look in his eyes he knew it too. It was making her uncomfortable to stay here, in any case. At any minute, Alphys was probably going to burst through those doors at the opposite end of the chamber and chew them both out.

She gave Mettaton a sideways glance while he lay there. Was he going to be okay all by himself, without any legs and only half as many arms? With so many monsters talking about how much they hated him, and probably now Alphys did too with his betrayal...

Thinking back on it, though, her heart hardened just a little. Maybe it wasn't him she should be worried about. _He_ certainly didn't act worried about all that.

But when Frisk stepped over him, he made a shuddering noise and she stopped. "H... how many times, sweetheart?" He croaked, his voice fizzing in and out with his pulsating, cracked heart- still retaining damage from Flowey's aptly named 'bullet seed'. Mettaton's face was pitiful. "How many times did I kill you today before we got to this point?"

She rubbed her chest unconsciously, where her heart was still beating for now. Electricity. Chainsaws. Lasers. Getting your skull caved in by a well-placed kick. There were all kinds of ways to die. "I dunno," she said, giving him a dry grin. "I lost count."

But that was a lie.

Still, the lie fooled Mettaton. "You're plenty strong, human... I'm sure that whatever you want, you'll find a way to get it."

The arena opened on the other side, and Frisk was finally free to dash over the next walkway and continue her quest through the Core. she had a feeling that it would be over soon. "See you, Mettaton," she found herself mumbling as she ran.

The metal floor of the walkway echoed her frantic steps while the girl dashed to the end. After making it out of that big black chamber, the two of them entered the familiar red surroundings of the Core once again, suffering under the heat and Frisk healed of all bruises. Running her fingers along some of the exposed tubing, although Flowey quickly yelled at her to stop or else get shocked, it wasn't long before the girl came to the last elevator and knew, although she had never gotten this far before, where it led.

Frisk pressed the button and it opened to a dark lift.

The Temmie armor was a relief- she didn't have any food in her pockets anymore. But in spite of that relief her stomach was twisting into knots. "We're going into the belly of the beast, aren't we?"

"That's a poetic way of putting it," Flowey mused, and he poked his head out. "But we don't even know if Asgore will be there." He trembled and then looked away, back down the corridor. As Frisk started to enter the elevator, he said softly, "I don't really think that... th-that we should even go, y-you know?"

The child stopped and he continued, half of Frisk's body obscured in the shadow of the next room. "You... y-you heard everybody back there, didn't you? W-why did you tell them no?"

"You know why," Frisk whispered.

"I-I-I can't help thinking... That if we go this way... w-we'll mess something up even more. M-maybe we should stop. M-maybe we should take a break. M-maybe-"

Ignoring his rambling, Frisk stepped inside fully. "We're going to check out the castle. Stop being a pussy."

Flowey didn't respond to that, so Frisk pushed the button for the way up and the floor began to move beneath them.

It was a long ride.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry that this chapter ended up being a little short; I felt it was important to capture this event in one chapter. I'm sure it'll be easy to guess what's next, though.

 **Next Chapter:** The Sad Story of Underfell


	5. The Sad Story of Underfell

Beyond miracles that flashed over the whole world, beyond archaic buildings that rose as crushed pillars, beyond a world of slate grey, the child found a house that made them hesitate. It was of a familiar make, right down to the ashes and soot that gathered in piles like leaves, and yet the grey of those ashes seemed to have been smeared over it all. The windows showed nothing but black. So did the entrance that yawned open to them, with no door or lock in sight.

When the child moved through to that entrance, they were walking through piles of dust. Dust that clung heavy to their shoes, like fingers pulling and begging, like the voices of the monsters left behind.

Not for the first time, while he was clinging to Frisk's back Flowey felt them tremble. He had already tried to tell them not to do it, but wondered if he would have another chance when they finally went inside this castle.

Once the child went inside, they quickly understood why it was that the windows and the entrance had only shown black. The castle that they were standing in was black and wrecked, almost impossible to see in without any light. It wasn't just the walls and the floor that were black, but it was everything. Everything in varying shades of this dark color, like a house that was swallowed up in tar or had the light and warmth drained from it- the brightest color in there were the rotting flowers and white dust of monsters left behind throughout. The furniture that could just barely be made out was broken. A smashed bookshelf, a cracked table with a fallen vase beside it. A scorched fireplace, with bent pokers.

The human might have trouble seeing all of it, might be having trouble making their way around, but Flowey had no trouble. Perhaps in a minute they wouldn't either, as Frisk must surely, gradually realize that they had been in this house before. It was just a different color then, with a different smell from the burning in their nostrils now. Inhabited by a different boss monster. A cabin that housed madness instead of despair, that was the one Frisk was familiar with.

Flowey, who had lived in both houses, felt something spark inside. A feeling, of the few others that he had in his miserable existence. "... Being in this castle is so nostalgic," he found himself saying, his voice no longer wracked with tremors.

"What does nostalgic mean?" Frisk asked, as they rifled through the kitchen for any food and found none. They were keeping their voice low; of course, it was entirely possible that Asgore was in this little part of this castle right now. But if that were the case, he probably should've noticed that the human had entered. But Flowey wouldn't correct them their suspicions.

He couldn't even reply to the question. His soulless body seized up. "Do you want to hear a story, human?" He said.

Frisk didn't say whether they did or not. They looked in the trashcan and made a face at whatever they found.

Flowey relaxed against their back, and in a low voice he began to talk, "A long time ago, there was another human that fell down into the underground."

If the human reacted to what he said, Flowey didn't see it from where he was resting now. But Frisk continued to walk, leaving the kitchen and crossing quickly through the living room. From the entryway they went right, their steps becoming more confident as they remembered the house from long ago in the Ruins. And Flowey continued to speak, "That human, a child, was injured in their fall, like you. They cried for help, like you."

Memories touched his mind, just faintly. Frisk's sobbing face as they struggled to move their broken leg. Anna's sobbing face as they struggled to breathe. Both times this curious face peeked out from behind pillars, from under the dirt. And... "The king's son, Asriel, heard them calling then."

Frisk stopped walking. Their hand reached and brushed against a door. A door that Flowey knew by heart. They turned their head, just a fraction as if to look at Flowey, and began walking again, leaving the door behind.

"Asriel found the human," Flowey hissed, "and he captured them. He brought them back to his parents, injured, and they locked them away." There was no longer a cage in any of the houses. There was no longer an Anna, either. "They would use this human to go back home. They would force the other humans to come and unlock the barrier. ... That was their plan, but..." Their foolish plan.

Frisk's fingers traced over the door that was unlocked at the end of the hall, and they stepped inside. It was more wrecked than anything else in the house, the bed turned to ribbons and kindling, pictures crushed off the walls that were covered in claw marks. On the desk there was a notebook covered in black scribbles, like somebody had tried to etch out each entry. The only thing that was intact was a closet, which, when Frisk opened it up, contained an ugly suit of fur, claws, and fake skin. The Krampus costume.

Was even the sweater torn to shreds? Flowey's voice failed him, even if it wasn't pain that gripped him now.

"What happened?"

The flower snapped back to attention. "Huh?"

"In the story, what happened?"

"Oh." Now he relaxed again. "... but the humans never came for the fallen child. And instead, something else happened. We... I mean, the monsters... came to care for the child instead, and set them free from their cage. The monsters loved the human, just like all the monsters love you now."

Frisk slammed the door to Asgore's room on their way out. "Give me a fucking break."

Flowey laughed, a laugh that seemed so innocent. "They began to have hope. Even in a place as dark as this... and Asriel came to think of that human as family." With a look into the hall mirror, in which the child screwed up their face and smacked their own reflection, Frisk was now approaching the door that they had previously passed over. Flowey's story fell silent when the door opened. Memories touched him again. He knew this room. He knew... the beds that stood on either side of the room, untouched for ages. The furniture in this room was all intact, and in fact looked to be in perfect condition.

There was a picture on the opposite wall, the only color that Flowey saw in the room. It was a family photo, an old one, wherein two children who hated to have their pictures taken were scowling at the camera. It was a badly taken photo, and they both had red eye from the flash. Anna wasn't always scowling like that. What kind of face did they always make...? Lately when he thought of it, he couldn't quite remember.

His soulless body shuddered. Frisk had no interest in the picture, and instead had stopped in the center of the floor- where two boxes wrapped in black and red wrapping paper were left, which Flowey hadn't noticed before.

Inside one was a red and gold locket. Inside the other was a dull, clean knife.

Frisk stood up, taking neither.

Anna would have taken them. Anna would have worn them.

Flowey's voice cracked. "But the human wasn't happy."

It wasn't a scowl, and it wasn't a smile. It was that expression, that miserable look, that they always turned to when no one was there to keep it from their face. When he did not keep it from their face.

No one likes to be caged.

"They wanted to go home."

Frisk walked to the stairs, unsatisfied with no sign of Asgore on the first floor. "Um," they spoke, interrupting him yet again. "Do you think he might be down there?"

"Maybe," Flowey said. But the possibility made him shudder. Frisk, too, spent some time standing on the stairs and staring. So Flowey cleared his throat. "...Are we going?"

Frisk swallowed. "Yeah. Come on."

As if undaunted, they took hold of the railing with a dark hand and dragged it along the wood while moving down the stairs, step by gigantic step. There was a long chain that once barred the path down the creaky and shadowed-over passage, but it was broken and posed no deterrent to the child. The only deterrent here was the darkness, brought on by the black walls and little light. It only increased as they descended to the basement of the house; Frisk held tight to the railing, likely enough, to protect themselves from tripping and falling, from breaking their neck and having to start all over.

It wasn't much lighter when the two of them reached the bottom. The only good thing was that the ground evened out. But Flowey knew that light was incoming, so he began again in a soft whisper. He had to get all of it out. before Frisk could make it to the end, an end he was familiar with. Even if it may be a bit distorted from the retellings of the past.

"Then, one day, the human picked a bouquet of buttercups," he continued. Frisk shivered, which he felt easily, clinging to their back. "What do you know about buttercups, Frisk?"

"I know you're a buttercup," was all they mumbled.

That was true. It was such a fitting form. With a bitter smile, Flowey hissed, "Don't ever eat buttercups, Frisk. They're poisonous."

"Like I'm going to fucking eat flo-" The remark, which he could almost hear accompanied by rolling eyes, cut short completely and Frisk stopped walking. They said, "What did they... need buttercups for?"

Flowey drooped, and his petals obscured his face from sight. "They ate them," he said, his voice so soft that only Frisk had a change of hearing it. "And they died."

Frisk made a noise like they were choking. Flowey remembered the face Anna made at that moment. Yes, he remembered. "Do you see? They wanted to go home." At least, they said as much. Anna said as much. Over, and over. It was so goddamn annoying, at least that was how he had felt at the time. How he _felt_... he hadn't _felt_ in a very long time. He only remembered the feelings, the grief. And not just the grief, but the anticipation. The tension. "When they died, then, he- Asriel-"

Flowey licked his lips with a tongue flowers shouldn't have. At that moment, remembering, his curled petals concealed a white face that Frisk wouldn't have liked, and he spoke past protruding fangs, "Asriel absorbed their SOUL. And with that SOUL, he changed. He became a being of immense power."

The power, he would never forget. But that power was also tied to feelings. His own, and...

Frisk started walking again, silently and expectantly, and his breath hitched. "He was so powerful, he could cross the barrier with ease. In a way, he could grant his sibling's wish and bring them home. Like they wanted."

"Is that what happened to him?" Frisk asked, feeling along the wall. "Did he leave everyone behind?"

Flowey's structure contorted and returned to that little flower face, streaked with lines like bruises and lost eyes. His breath hitched again, and the child he was riding upon slowed. Wouldn't that have been an idea.

Wouldn't that have been a happy ending.

Yet Flowey didn't feel like shedding tears. "That's not what happened.

"Free to cross the barrier, Asriel could have killed as many humans as he wanted. With their SOULs, he could have freed everyone."

 _You tricked me_

 _I'm so proud of you_

 _You planned this all along_

 _We'll be free_

 _I hate you_

"But when the dirt settled, and as he stood before his parents like a god, Asriel killed himself instead."

 _I'm so scared_

 _I don't know what to do._

 _I'm so scared._

"Like a coward."

A large part of the basement wall was missing, opening up to another view of the dirty New Home skyline like a gigantic window. Perhaps "basement" wasn't the best descriptor of this floor after all. Frisk stood by the edge, hand on the wall still as though afraid they may fall into the streets below, studying the buildings and the monsters that roamed between them. No wind blew their hair, and no sun warmed their face. The only light came from streetlamps under the castle.

It wasn't beautiful, but this too had the etchings of nostalgia for Flowey. Maybe it was beautiful, in that way.

Frisk's head hung, and they didn't look at New Home anymore. "... Why did he do that, Flowey?"

For Flowey, who still was looking, the reply was simple, "Only he knows the answer to that."

Asgore believed that the human SOUL drove him to it.

Toriel believed that he too wanted to go somewhere other than the Underground, somewhere he could call "home."

It didn't matter, in the end. The human had taken the prince of monsters away. And that was unforgivable.

Flowey woke up in a world that hadn't forgiven him, and hadn't forgiven Anna.

He woke up with his own dust spread as though fresh on his petals, in confusion and panic- the same panic that he had died with. A panic that never went away. A fear that didn't stop. A fear that was the only thing, the only thing in his soulless shell that he could tangibly feel. Perhaps it only made sense, though. What was there not to be afraid of? He was so small.

And he was alone.

Anna was gone.

"The human left..."

Frisk had left the makeshift window and was walking to an elevator that they found was locked. Their only path was behind them, down a hall that lead to the final corridor in the castle. Their body shook.

"You'll leave too, won't you?"

The child turned their head to catch a glimpse of Flowey, looking puzzled. He did not show his face. With long tendrils he dragged himself himself off of their back and pulled himself upright on the floor. No doubt feeling the weight of the flower and his vines leave, his thorns unhooking from their sweater, Frisk turned all the way around with confusion written in their very voice. "Flowey…?" He again did not show his face, stem drooped and his petals curled inwards. Oh, but he could imagine the kind of stance that they had, the kind of things that they were thinking. Did they think he was just telling them that story for fun?

He looked up weakly at the human. "Do you really think that you'll be able to destroy the barrier? Are you really going to set everyone free?" Try to imitate a version of themself that wasn't true here, a version that surely they would not live up to.

Frisk bunched some of the material of their sweater into their hands, blinking. "That's the plan. To break the barrier. Haven't you been paying attention?"

Liar; they didn't even have a real reason to give monsters their freedom, not even to consider that it was impossible for them to do on their own. They were strong, yes, but they were only one SOUL. Bowing his head again, Flowey smiled bitterly where they could not see. "If that's true... Why would you say that you're going to leave on Mettaton's show? You could have told them that you're going to... But you said you were leaving, and that they couldn't stop you."

The child stuttered before murmuring, "I... I wasn't thinking, I was on TV. I didn't mean anything by it."

"And what if you _can't_?" Flowey drooped lower, as if the weight of his head was too much.

Frisk took a moment to respond, fingers upon their lips. "I will."

Liar.

As it was, they wouldn't understand even still. So he had to try, as the final rooms- as the end- grew closer and closer. An end that made him tremble far more than any of the monsters could have. Flowey hated this fear. This fear hadn't been a part of his life, it only consumed him at its conclusion. "But... there is no way. It's not too late, you know. I-it-it's not too late to go back, to live in that... that other world."

"I know." Frisk knelt down to his level, and he feared they would see his face. "But I just can't do that. We're going to get beyond that barrier somehow. Both of us. And without any killing, just like that other Frisk, okay?"

Liar. Just like he was, back then. Just like he was now.

Misery coiled in Flowey's heart, but within that misery there was a calculated certainty, as gears turned in his little flower head. Asgore was gone- even though that should have been a bad thing, as theoretically it meant there was no way for Frisk to get back home unless they trekked all the way back to Toriel, for Flowey it was an immensely good thing.

He lifted up his head at Frisk and gave them a smile. A weak, weak smile. And his frail plant body trembled. "Well... then... there's something that I need to do."

At this the child wrinkled up their nose. "The hell do you have to do right now?"

Flowey chuckled. "It's important. I-I-I'll meet you over by the Barrier, okay Frisk?" He winked, sticking his tongue out at them in a silly expression. "I don't think you'll need any help from me from this point on, anyway."

Frisk sneered, standing up straight, unable to resist the confidence. "That's right. But hurry there, okay?"

"I will," Flowey said as he sunk into the stone earth, sliding in as though it was butter. "I will."

And he left them there, to walk to that Final Corridor all on their own. And Flowey, he traveled under the castle stone to his new destination, one where old hearts cast faint flourescent lights into emptiness, his own empty SOUL choked by memories of a child that left him alone once.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I can take no credit for the red eye thing. I read it in Flowey Is Not a Good Life Coach and it was my absolute favorite part about the whole story.

 **Next Chapter:** Rhetorical Questions


	6. Rhetorical Questions

Numb and bewildered, Frisk stepped into a new hallway at the end of the long dark tunnel. She expected more blackness, or perhaps more of the general color scheme she'd been seeing of red, but neither greeted her in this final corridor.

Startled by the sudden sound of tapping and distant rumbling, she walked into a gigantic hallway that seemed like it had been made for giants and was supported by rows of huge gray pillars on either side, the size of oak trees. The light in this room was grim and grey as well, very little coming from the gigantic stained-glass windows positioned between each pillar-stained glass windows with the crest of the kingdom painted upon them in a dark blue; three circles on the bottom, positioned as if they were dancing and a bat-winged triangle on the top. The shining floor below her feet was a checkered pattern that also included alternate shades of silver and blue, but the gloomy lighting in the hall made all of the blue look more like more gray to her.

Taking more steps inside, looking out at one of the giant windows, Frisk could faintly see rain streaming past them. It was impossible to see anything more than that, but it seemed so heavy, casting this whole room in dreariness. The drops trickling down the segmented glass were reflected in the highly polished floor, making it seem like there were sections of scattered rain dividing up the hallway. It really seemed like it was storming outside. How could that be? Unless she was somehow back in Waterfall, it should be impossible for it to rain under the mountain.

Or would it be better to stop wondering about that and keep going? The hall really was huge. Frisk took several more steps through it, feeling small and wishing that Flowey was there. She never had a more foreboding feeling than when she stepped on these cool colored tiles, although she couldn't see anybody or anything else there with her. But she also couldn't sense any miracles either, and wondered if she would even have a chance to SAVE before making it to the barrier.

Maybe it was just because she wasn't always very observant, but Frisk also completely missed Sans standing close to one of those huge pillars, leaning against it and his head down as if he had just nodded off. Or maybe he had just appeared out of nowhere, as he was sometimes wont to do.

He raised his head while the child walked by, and suddenly then she noticed him, gasping and taking a step away. He sniggered, "'sup?"

Even the brighter colors of his coat were muted by this room, the only thing clear being the red light that burned, as always, from his eye. Frisk didn't know why, but she took out her frying pan to see him there, feeling a tension in her stomach and arms that wouldn't leave.

Seeing that worn metal, he made a grimace with his permanent smile. His gold tooth glinted dully from the light of his eye. "jeeze kid, didn't mean to scare ya." But then even as he said that, he didn't look especially contrite. "although i guess you've been having a pretty scary day, huh? been busy facing that metal maniac all day; i watched the whole shebang with my bro. got some popcorn."

He winked. "you looked really cool-headed through the whole thing. like nothing mettaton could say surprised you."

Frisk let out the gasp that she had taken in and put her pan away, feeling some of the tension disappear. He made no move towards her or away. "Hi, Sans."

"you broke the boss's heart, on that last episode." His menacing grin widened. She wasn't frightened by that; every grin he made looked menacing when he was making it with those sharp teeth. "he's been having a rotten day. first he got fired this morning and now there's you leaving tonight."

"So what? He deserves a rotten day," the child spat, folding her arms, refusing to make contact with that burning eye in his skull.

Sans just shrugged, "maybe he does. and maybe that's the same for the other monsters here too, huh? a little heartbreak won't kill 'em... i mean, hell if i care." Frisk started to say something, and he cut her off, reaching into his coat. "now, i know what yer thinkin'. what's this guy doing here again? shouldn't he be back home consoling his stupid bawling brother?"

Resisting smiling, Frisk nodded.

He chuckled, and he pulled out a squeeze-bottle of relish. The child made a face as he drank some of it straight from the bottle, and then he stashed it away again. "... the thing is, this was also supposed to be one of my jobs. or schemes, you could call it."

"Schemes?"

"i'm a sentry. ...if things were different, i'd probably be saying stuff like," he walked into the center of the hall, smile never leaving his face as always. "asking you how you think you did going through all this, if you think you actually achieved anything at all." At that, he winked at her like it was a joke, but Frisk didn't find the statement that amusing. "...and i'd probably say something like, how your journey is going to end soon, and you're going to meet the king, to decide your own future. but before that..."

His expression hardened.

"someone like you would have to prove yourself."

A big dog skull-head, a type of cannon that Frisk had become familiar with very recently, appeared behind his back and was joined by a twin, hovering in the air with more menace than just sharp teeth could provide. Frisk took a step back, bunching the fabric of her sweater into her hands as she swallowed. Thunder boomed somewhere beyond this room, drowning out the sound of ringing bells.

"you would have to prove yourself to every monster that has tried to kill you. you would have to justify every person you spared, every person you killed, every action you took. justify all the EXP you didn't get- you know what EXP and LOVE is, don'tcha?"

The cannons glowed threateningly, as he didn't wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. "yeah... you have to prove that even with your EXP, even with your LV, you are still strong enough to make it to the end. And because you never gained any levels, proving that would be pretty hard, wouldn't it?"

But Frisk didn't say anything. She didn't even go for her weapon, although there was a glare in her eyes.

He took in the glare with a hollow expression in his eyesockets, the glow of his eye dwindling. Eventually, Sans chuckled again and closed his eyes; the two cannons disappeared. "but you took _so fucking long_. and we ended up doing that messy little chore in a whole other dimension. so... but, uh, either way, it's not like there'd be a point to a repeat performance. since, who knows if asgore is even there by the barrier right now."

Again, Frisk relaxed from where she'd been holding in air. She affected a sneer, tossing her head. "You're just scared of getting your butt whupped again. I can take you here just as easily as I did there."

His empty eyes snapped back open. "don't bet on it brat," he growled, and then smirked.

The smirk grew softer as he spoke next, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. "... don't worry, i know what i need to know now. you're just not a murderer, frisk. of course, that doesn't mean you're _completely_ vulnerable or kind either. you keep a bit of a fire in your heart, no matter who tries to put it out. you refused to be beaten, even if you didn't land a killing blow. even when you ran, it wasn't for long."

As if uncomfortable, he looked away as he finished, "so you didn't gain any _EXP_ , but in a way, you did gain experience. ...uh, if that makes sense."

Frisk felt her face burn and she rubbed her nose as inconspicuously as she was able, coughing up her embarrassment while Sans' smile dared the child to give him another reason to tease her. Where was all this coming from? "You had to beat the shit out of me to figure that out?"

He laughed hard, although she didn't find that incident very funny. " _yup_." But soon his unreciprocated laughter settled and he turned, peering behind him towards the distant exit to the hall. "you'll be at the barrier room soon, kid. i don't know what you'll do from there. maybe you'll find asgore after all, and you'll do what you promised me you would..."

Frisk swallowed, but Sans didn't seem to notice.

"or you'll have to go back, and look for him or your... other way of getting home... somewhere else." If nothing else, despite all his urging for her to kill someone, Frisk had a feeling he would be very upset if she were to take Toriel's SOUL. "if you do go back, i feel like i should let ya know no monsters will bother you anymore. not now that you've made it here, and especially not after that little finale you just finished.

"but whatever you do, don't worry about what happens in this rotten place." He shrugged, and the child looked upon his calm face in wonder. This was actually the least nervous she'd ever seen him, now that she realized it. "because of you and that other Sans, everything's changed already; one more change won't make a difference. so i wouldn't waste time thinkin' about how you'd be making anybody upset, or how you'd making anybody disappear, if it gets you home."

 _What if I set all of you free instead? Would you not want that?_ Frisk thought, but it wasn't something she'd say out loud to him. She didn't even know how to do it yet. So she just nodded.

"oh, we all clear?" He approached her, hands still in his pockets. "i thought there might be more i needed to say, uh." Her big eyes were just watching him, and he for once wasn't snapping at her for it. He drew out one hand, suddenly, and he brought it to rest on Frisk's head. "i've known you for a while, twerp. a lot longer than i'm sure you ever wanted to know me. i just wanted to tell you that, if this is really it, i'm gonna miss you when you leave. and, uh. i know that nothing can stop you, at this point in the game, but i still want to say..."

As he trailed, Frisk smiled weakly back up at him, who seemed to be getting more wistful with every word. She wanted to say something encouraging, she wanted to explain that he had the situation pegged completely wrong. She wanted to tell him that this wasn't really a goodbye.

And then Sans' smile turned nasty. "heheheh, get owned, dweeb." Before Frisk could react, he yanked her forward and off balance by the hand on her head.

Frisk shrieked and crashed into the floor beside the skeleton, only saved from injury by the fact that she was so small already. Nose aching nonetheless, and blood boiling while he cackled, she ripped herself back to her feet. "You _asshole!_ I'm gonna-"

But when she stood up to look for him, he was already gone. And so all she could do was blow a raspberry into the empty air, hoping that wherever he went it wasn't far from here. Her nose was still hurting, and she ended up rubbing it and sniffling somewhat self-consciously with nobody in the corridor. Outside, the rain seemed to have gotten just a little bit heavier, thunder cracking every few minutes. Frisk wasn't sure that she wanted to go outside in this weather anyway. She didn't even have an umbrella.

But then again, it had been a long time since she felt actual rain, not drippings from a cave ceiling. She wondered how it would smell outside when it was finished, and without thinking approached the glass of the window again.

Sans had already left, or was hiding, but she still wanted to grumble. She still felt angry, although to be clear she had felt that way the entire time. "Just couldn't resist getting one more prank in, huh? At least it isn't deadly anymore. Not like the joy-buzzer."

She turned from the rain to look, and still didn't see him. He must not really be there, after all.

"I wonder why you're like this," so she continued, deciding that she _probably_ wouldn't be overheard. "You're so smart and you've helped me so much, but you're such a-... _fuckwad..._ and a bully. Sometimes I can't even tell what you really want.

Not that I'm that great at reading people," she said, with her voice dropping down to a whisper and folding her hands behind her back. "But I have somebody to compare you to now, and it confuses the hell out of me."

Blue Sans, if he was the one standing here, probably would have said something different, probably would have acted differently. He was so much more relaxed, so much kinder- even if the bar was already set pretty low, and his kindness was simply matter-of-fact.

She didn't really understand the concept of how or why "many worlds" existed, just that they were there. A Sans unlike hers in a world unlike hers. If they were the same people, shouldn't they act more alike? But, and Frisk's heart fell to think it, she wasn't anything like the Frisk in the Blue world either. Maybe some tiny thing was altered and that was all it took.

The child turned and began to wander to the opposite end of the corridor, where the exit was placed off to the side as an unassuming black doorway.

"Do you think that someone... Even someone who was a really good person... could change, just because of the world they live in?"

It was easy to believe for some of the monsters here, who also infuriated her. But Frisk couldn't find a clear answer to add aloud if she tried. Maybe that just made it a "rhetorical" question. She found one more before brushing her hand on the wall at the opposite side of the hallway.

"Did I change, while I was living here? ...Or is this just how I've always been?"

She looked at the exit, just standing there waiting for her. And she sighed, taking one last glance at the stormy grey and blue corridor that instilled such strange feelings in her heart just by walking through it. She put a scowl on her face, and imagined Sans hiding behind one of the pillars just waiting to give some smartass reply. "Nobody answer that."

She stepped out of the dim watery light and into the blackness of the new hall. The throne room was next, a throne room empty of a king and queen. Beyond that, deep in the basement of the castle, the child would find the room for the barrier.

Right now, it wasn't Sans that was watching her go. Not Sans who was slowly following her in the darkness.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This pace infuriates me because there's things I want to get to in this fic and I can't yet EWE I wish I could write faster, but burning your juices out over homework tends to make that hard.

 **Next Chapter:** Demon's Soul


	7. Demon's Soul

It was following the child the entire time, this presence. From the moment they entered the house, it listened and watched, watched them poke around in its things and talk with their flower friend, watched them creep to the basement, watched them enter the final corridor before the throne room, watched them talk with the traitor sentry, watched them mumble to themselves as if they had a right to speak in the once hallowed hall. It watched with weak and bloodshot eyes, keeping just out of sight; ordinarily that would be some feat, but in the darkness that engulfed most of its home that wasn't such a big deal-only in the final corridor did it have to wait, until a time when no one was going to notice its shadow giving it away.

For a monster of its size, it moved with surprisingly soft footsteps. And the castle was steady enough not to shake from its own master's weight.

He woke up back home, covered in wounds and aching with a poisonous influence in his veins. He was confused, weak, and most of all disorientated. But he understood soon enough what had happened, as his healths slowly recovered. The battle he had with that imposter version of Sans was a battle that he lost. The small skeleton had pulled out some tricks that he didn't expect, that the Sans he was familiar with could not do. He was able to survive in spite of it, but... It was also clear that, no matter how he managed to survive those poisonous attacks, he still ended up being defeated in battle.

Defeated right in front of his subjects in Snowdin.

He had surged with rage at that moment, alone with his castle, casting fire and soot into every stone corner. There was surely no way to recover from it; he thought he might destroy everything in his anger, in his sense of loss, but all he actually did was wear himself out. He was defeated. Not killed, but close enough. If he wasn't able to hold his own in battle, then he might as well not be the king any longer.

In this world, he had to be the strongest of them all. It was why his LV had reached the cap of 20 long ago, although he had yet to make the actual transformation into a demon, it felt at times. He would just have to go on getting stronger in other ways, and in the meantime his weak subjects would do the same. That was what he thought...

But now, he got defeated by a measly LV 1 monster.

It was probably only a matter of time before the rougher subjects in his realm caught on to this and hatched their own ideas to come defeat him. He could handle even a handful, but at that moment as his health only just replenished, he pictured swarms of them. He pictured chaos.

And as the news spread all the way to New Home, there was indeed chaos. He watched it from his windows, read it on the Undernet, and finally watched it on a TV show that he wasn't particularly interested in- the only TV show to exist underground. He grew restless and again enraged, and again believed he could destroy everything from inside his castle. And again he ended up only making himself tired.

Beyond that rage, he could feel little else. And so he just waited in silence.

That quivering human on the screen was coming close to his home. Maybe it was only their unsavory presence that kept others from approaching. He knew their nature well, from reports and footage collected by Dr. Alphys; like all humans, they were interested only in attacking and making their way through at all costs. They were typical, but their youth made them weak.

Most of the other children, who were not _so_ weak as to die immediately, were like that as well. Hiding, hurting, killing.

He would wait for them, but by the time they arrived at his home he became unsure of what to do with himself. He heard their footsteps while he pretended in vain to get some sleep, and felt rage surge.

The human was not alone. He saw that on the show as well, and was bewildered to see a kind of monster that he had never heard of before. A little talking flower. It was talking to them even now, talking about painful topics which depressed his rage. So he followed them instead, silent and invisible in his own home. The human was so stupid they didn't even suspect his presence.

They passed his house, and the final corridor, and now they made their way into his throne room. His presence would not be so easy to ignore, soon.

The dust that surrounded his home was thick in the throne room as well, along with ashes and flowers that died a long time ago. It surrounded his black and thorny throne, one he seemed to never use. He was always too out and about, or just happy acting like a predator when someone came around to visit instead of a monarch. The child ran their fingers over some of the spikes and accidentally pricked themselves. There was some approximation of pleasure, and then confusion, when he saw the blood run from their fingertip and then stop.

The child sucked it and continued on, to a pile in the corner covered by a white sheet.

That was the remains of _her_ throne.

They only gave it a cursory examination before moving on.

With nothing else to do here, they stepped out into the cavern that lead to the barrier, out of sight. Only then did he cross the threshold after them. The dust he disturbed swirled through the dim light from the surface, coating his feet and armor, something they surely would have noticed.

He didn't catch sight of them again until they were at the barrier, and he came to a stop right behind them as he watched them approach it.

It was storming outside. The light of the lightning and the struggling sun shone through so easily; light wasn't trapped by magic, naturally. But the human approached the softly glowing field, raising a hand and pressing forward until it hit something unimaginably hard. They pressed their other hand to it, and pushed with a small little childish grunt. The king almost laughed at that. He wondered if they had a look of despair on their face when they realized that there was nowhere for them to go? No way to proceed, with thir SOUL just weak enough.

He had a look of despair lik that on his face, hundreds of years ago.

It was time.

As if according to his will (there was a switch on the floor,) seven empty canisters shot up from the ground around him with a slick sliding motion and a whoosh of air. Along with that whoosh, he brought forward a low growl, the sound rumbling from his throat as if from a lion. The combination of noises finally alerted the child, and they turned their head suddenly.

Whatever face they wore before, their eyes became large at the sight of him. Whatever face they wore before, their eyes became large at the sight of him. Maybe that was good. Or maybe that was bad. It was not precisely what he expected, with how fiercely they fought others, with how unflappable they appeared on all the screens. Was it an honor, that they always looked so frightened of him in particular?

"How do you do, human?" He heard himself saying that well-practiced greeting, as if he wasn't quite in control of his own words and was just going through motions. "What is wrong?" When they didn't reply, pressing their back into the glowing barrier, he took a step forward. They had nowhere to go. "You came here to find me, isn't that correct? And you have finally found me, as you wanted."

Their voice rose quietly, a voice that he only heard once or twice. "You really were here all along..."

"I have been watching..." He replied. "Watching your progress through my kingdom."

As he watched them, the child pulled their ridiculous frying pan out into the open, waving it as though it was a sword; the metal was dented and burned, and he thought that if he really wanted to, he could shatter it. It almost made him want to laugh, that they thought such a weapon would do anything to him. From within his cloak he drew out his own, his crystal trident that surged with magic as he held it. That was not a sword either, but he was not the type to hold a sword after all.

The human had already experienced how it felt to be stabbed with that trident for themselves, and he saw them tremble. As if naturally, he heard them whisper, "I don't want to fight you."

"Then do not," he said.

They looked upon him, and upon his trident, with utter confusion on their face, and again he felt like laughing. That they were both in uncharted territory, but here they were standing with their weapons out.

He was LV 20, the cap. There was only one course of action that felt comfortable to him, anymore. And with a single downward stroke of his trident, he knocked the pan out of the child's hands. There sure gasp was drowned out by its clatter on the cabin floor, bouncing just far enough from the reach before they had a chance to move. As if he had removed the option to fight, itself. Just like every child that stood in his throne room, after trials and hardships is no child should ever experience, this one turned pale. And there was fear.

That fear was what locked the monsters on the ground; it was the reason there was a Barrier to block their escape. Asgore snarled at that face, and with his trident keeping them in place. The sensation of the barbed ends sinking into their shoulder, mixing with the sound of their screams, fueled the menacing rumble in his throat. His blood boiled. He had been waiting for them to arrive for so long, too long.

"I have six," he hissed. "I just need one more- one more and I will become a god. What are you to that? How can you stop me when I have come so far?"

It became their turn. Body shaking, weapon gone, the child acted instead. Their voice, contorted with pain, gave him a reply, "It's too late. They- they don't want you anymore."

He ripped his trident free, and they squealed like an animal. His trident turned blue, and the human just reached their knees when he swung viciously at them, as many times as he liked.

Their weapon was still too far from their grasp. He took it in with an appraising eye when their shoulder stopped bleeding, or body healing too quickly for a human. They snapped at him, "They hate you. They don't want you as a king anymore."

"You are spouting idiocies as only a child will," said Asgore, and he struck at them with his trident glowing a deep orange. But the human, when given a moment to recover, was quick. They moved to one side, then to another, and as his trident glided harmlessly through them they darted behind his back.

He whirled around to find them standing there.

"Didn't you watch the show?" They weren't able to even take their weapon off the floor where they stood now. "They won't listen… You can't do this anymore!"

"They will listen to a God."

They may be able to evade the trident, but as fire billowed from his hand he could hear them getting burned. Because like all children they too screamed.

"You can't defeat me," they said nonetheless. He realized that, as they took in more pain, their acts were changing, just like how their face changed. "I've already died more times than I can list out loud."

"Then stop dodging me."

How easily they healed from each attack, between turns. Could that be… Resolve? This child's soul couldn't be stronger than his own. Not after all that he had done to get this far. All he had sacrificed, all of the people he had hurt, it made him stronger than this human could hope to be.

He continued to fight them, always offensive. They had to leave their weapon farther and farther behind with every dodge. He was in no pain, while on the contrary all they had going for them was persistence. The despair on their face was easy to read. Until suddenly their eyes glinted- as he swung at them in blue again, the human said, "I'll show you what I mean."

They turned and fled from their makeshift battleground.

He pursued them after several seconds of shock, and found them not far down the cavern corridors. They faced away from him; they turned though, soon enough, when he arrived with a roar. They look less afraid, more like they did on the television screens. That infuriated him. He threw the weight of his magic behind the fire blast.

Again.

And again.

There was no way for Asgore to know how many times they stood in the cavern corridor, with his trident and flames while the child had nothing, and in fact did nothing. It had to have been many times. Maybe it felt like forever, for the child. But they didn't do anything to fight back- this kind of battle was different for them. It was different from any other tactic they tried in the past. Sometimes when he fought them, they would tell him. They told him how many tallies he had now, and he would give a hesitant nod as they blurrily occurred to him each time, albeit only with prompting.

To an observer, this fight only just began and then stopped in an instant, without warning. Yet at the same time, if that were true, Asgore wouldn't be feeling so weary as he was right now, standing in front of the child.

The king slumped, mind reeling as he dropped heavily down to his knees. The human's face changed while looking upon him at last, although the look of fear would probably never enter their features again. He rasped while he knelt, "How can this be?"

"I already told you, he won't win," said the human in a low voice.

That demonic human.

"Am I really so helpless?" No matter his resolve, he couldn't impose his desires over theirs- he, with an LV so high, couldn't defeat a human with such a weak SOUL. Couldn't keep control over his own kingdom. Couldn't break the barrier.

And now instead, eventually they may even defeat him. They did not have a weapon, but they had infinite tries to find a solution. Of course he knew about it. He had experienced it so many times before, but in those days the SOULs and their resolve were not as strong as his. He eventually outlasted them.

But he could not outlast this human. The look in their eyes told him so. And when he died, and they left, maybe even possessing his own SOUL in some grim reversal...

He looked for solutions. But for a long time the only solution that he could think of was to kill. And yet he could not kill this human. However hard he tried, killing them wasn't the solution.

Asgore realized the solution.

He pointed the barbs of his trident inward, at himself. The human's face changed again, their eyes going wide. "Stop!"

It didn't hurt. And ended up being so quick, just one hit. It struck against his body and dug in deeper, deeper, even his armor proving little protection against his own weapon. And it didn't hurt. Or at least, he couldn't feel it if it did. He could just feel a growing weariness, a loosening of his whole body, which only grew when he ripped the barbs of his trident out of his chest. There was no blood. Really, monster bodies are usually so fragile, coming apart cleanly on command as if they were made of nothing but pretend.

He looked into the human's huge eyes. "If I cannot win... ... You will not escape... either," grunted the king.

The last of his strength burned out in that stare. He could no longer feel his chest, or indeed any part of his body. He slumped down, seeing the dark cave floor beneath their feet, and then could not see anything else. He could not hear the human child screaming, and he missed their footsteps as they ran to his body- shortly before it collapsed into dust, armor and all.

And then all that was left of him was his SOUL, revealed inside his chest when his body turned to dust. His SOUL could only barely feel anything, and it wasn't just because of the level of violence attached to it. He couldn't see or hear either, so he didn't really know what was going to happen next. Still, he wasn't afraid. Asgore was feeling very peaceful, all of a sudden. That was a very nostalgic feeling, and one that he hadn't had for, well, about a decade.

There was a crack. He pushed on it, and it went a little wider, spread a little farther. If he were a normal monster, then it would have already shattered into pieces and disappeared from this world the same way that his body did. But he was a Boss Monster, and one with resolve. If he really wanted to he could have held it still and solid for for a long while, maybe even a minute. Or he could destroy it quickly.

If he didn't destroy himself now the human might-

But something warm closed over him before he could finish, before he could disappear properly. It enveloped his SOUL, crushingly tight, a sensation like being wrapped up in a net. It held his SOUL closed, held it steady even as he pushed it into fragments.

There was a sudden jerk, and an impact like a brick wall. He felt that.

And then he felt another beat. He felt another SOUL beside his.

* * *

The demonic SOUL of the Monster King, and the demonic SOUL of the child, both began beating to a schizophrenic rhythm, seeking sync.

Asgore saw through her eyes, heard with her ears, and yet distantly. He was imprisoned.

Frisk felt pain, like her heart suddenly exploded, and screamed as she clutched at her aching chest. Although it wasn't just her chest that was hurting; her whole body burned dully, before being filled with the sensation of pins and needles, and parts like her fingers and teeth began to itch. It was unbearable, and she wanted to curl up and die- or at least, reset- in that moment. The only reason she didn't was because she didn't think she could stand the possibility of being killed yet one more time. So she just screamed and screamed, her throat becoming raw and the voice changing as she did.

Asgore's sense of self rose in and out; he could not even recall his own name, the only one coming to mind being that strange one, 'Frisk'. With an arm that was unimaginably heavy he lifted his hand while the rest of him screamed and stared at it. There wasn't any fur, any claws. Was that how it was supposed to be? In the next moment there were claws, sharp and painful. That felt a tiny bit better.

It was hard to breathe. But little by little he was managing it, while the screams rose into nothing but pained gasps.

They started to uncurl together, standing up straight once more, in a body that was quite short. Asgore vaguely remembered being much taller than this. Frisk was just happy that the pain was receding, even if they still felt wrong and crowded in many ways.

It had scarcely receded, though, when she heard something in the back of her hearing range. A voice... One that sounded familiar, and yet severely distorted. " _...You actually took it..._ "

Asgore did not know why he recognized the voice, until the memory of a flower popped into his head. It kept on talking, although even as he turned sluggishly and looked around he could not see a flower. " _...I thought maybe that would be... it... but you actually took his SOUL..._."

Frisk rubbed her aching eyes. There were dark shapes in the background of her vision, like snakes, coiling closer in the darkness. " _Gosh... I guess you really want to leave...?_ "

They smelled something. It was sweet. Frisk began to feel dizzy again, and as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do she sat down on the cave floor, watching the dark shapes get closer. It was fine; it couldn't possibly be worse than what she just went through.

" _Don't worry, then..._ "

Said the voice. It was very close now.

" _I'll take care of everything._ "

Frisk's eyes closed, but Asgore wasn't done seeing. He wasn't ready to sleep. He struggled to pry one open. As her consciousness receded, his own sense of self began to reemerge, and with it were basic memories. One of them was the fact, which he had completely overlooked, that the jars for the human SOULs had all been empty. They'd all been completely empty, as if...

The dark shapes reached them, clambered all over them, and Frisk smelled something sweet before the whole world turned white and shifted.

Sensing the danger only too late, a white and red SOUL popped out of Frisk's chest for just a moment before it sank back in, accompanying her loss of consciousness.

It looked like a two-leaf clover.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I missed the last update, sorry about that ;w; don't expect me to be very good about it until Winter break, college is really kicking my butt on writing energy. Not happy with this chapter but I can't see how to change it right now so here it is.

 **Next Chapter:** Your Best Dream


	8. Your Best Dream

**Flowey LV 9999 9999;99**

 **Our World**

 **Continue | Restart**

* * *

Frisk woke up in a cold sweat that morning, last night's dream still fading from her head in a daze. The room that surrounded her almost looked unfamiliar in the dark, the white lamp turned off on her desk and no light shining through the window above her bed. She lay still, getting her bearings, and sighed.

What a nightmare.

The fluorescent light overhead flickered on, signaling the start of the day, and as she saw everything more clearly Frisk sat up with a little groan. Nothing looked off about the bed, the red desk stood where it always did beside it, and nothing looked off about the little chair in the corner. Nor the poster that she had tacked up on the wall. Ralph glowered down at her from it, hands ready to wreck.

Frisk rubbed her eyes. She could hear the director calling. "Okay, okay kids, it's 7:30! We don't want to waste the whole day in bed, do we? Up and at 'em!"

The child groaned again. She wanted to close her eyes and ignore the call, but she wasn't in the mood to be singled out by Mrs. Ellison today. She slid out of bed in her orange pajamas and padded to the door, peering yawning out of the hall.

Other kids were filing out as well, all yawning and in their pajamas. The director stood fully dressed and ready for the day, hands on her hips, smiling at the children as they stepped into view. She smiled at Frisk as well, once she crept out of the room.

The other groups of children were all the same faces as every other day-at least, she figured that they had to be-but only a few stuck out to her eyes, while the rest blurred. A child with dark, closely-cut brown hair smiled at her. The child's name escaped her. They wore a ribbon around their neck.

Frisk didn't smile back, only looking away while the director talked. "Now that's better. It's a bright and beautiful day ahead so please don't keep Ms. Silka waiting; she should be just about done with breakfast.

"What's breakfast?" Asked a child with a headband. Their name escaped Frisk.

"Pancakes and hashbrowns, today," said Mrs. Ellison, and just like that Frisk could hear her stomach growling, surely hoping that she could get first pick for breakfast. The chocolate chip pancakes were always the best, especially the first batch.

She found herself bouncing lightly on her feet as she stood in the hallway with the other kids, Mrs. Ellison continuing to say things that weren't really important. There was another child who looked at her, from the room across from hers. They had come out of the room holding a black spiral-bound notebook, and the child gave her a smile. Again Frisk didn't smile back, wondering why everybody was trying to make eye contact with her today. When the director stopped talking and gave everyone license to eat, the children started to file quickly past her. At that time, when Frisk herself was starting to join them, the child with the notebook turned back and walked closer instead.

"Eat breakfast with me, Frisk," whispered the child, reaching for Frisk's hand.

As if on an impulse, she drew away, swatting that hand, and immediately she tensed up as the child stared at her. Why had she done that? They blinked through their cloudy glasses. And then they said, "What's the matter? You don't want to eat with your friend?"

"Friend?" Frisk repeated numbly.

They frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

The look on their face was sincere and warming, but it confused her terribly. It was too difficult to speak, her face flushing, and Frisk shook her head. She pushed past the child with the notebook, and the other children around her, seeking breakfast. If somebody's feelings were hurt, when that kid up and decided they were 'friends', that was just what was going to happen.

Breakfast ended up going by so fast, Frisk could only faintly taste the pancakes on her plate. Other kids sat around her, a few sat next to her, but she didn't make it her business to look at them. One was the child with the notebook, who didn't tried to speak to her again yet sat across from her anyway, eating pancakes slowly with a small smile. They were a little bit unnerving. There was a kid in pink pajamas on the opposite side of the cafeteria who was flipping their pancake in a blackened frying pan, giggling each time they managed to catch it, playing pretend-chef.

Frisk would glance their way occasionally. It looked fun. She wanted to play too. But she would sit by herself, as always, until her breakfast was done.

After breakfast, the day was passing quickly. It wasn't a school day, not that Frisk could tell. The kids were expected to work on their homework, anyone who had any, but Frisk couldn't recall having any homework either. Neither could she really recall the last lesson at school.

Oh well. For once, the computers were free. She would play until lunch. No one was trying to stop her.

While the child played, the child with the notebook sat and watched her, and smiled when the other child looked their way. They were joined by a child with a ribbon, and another with a tutu on. Frisk wondered if the child with the tutu was supposed to be practicing for something. But it looked as if the group of them had nothing better to do than watch.

For once Frisk didn't mind an audience.

She couldn't remember what the game was about when it was time for lunch, but it was fun.

This time during lunch, she didn't eat alone. Children with glasses, frying pans, ribbons, and tutus came with her, as if they naturally would, to settle down to food that was somehow much tastier than the usual faire. She didn't remember what day it was when the cook served mushroom and onion pizza for lunch.

It was strange how difficult it was to be amazed, accompanied by friends she didn't recall the day before. They did not talk much, at least not at first. They spoke in turns, but even that was something she got used to easily. She could take them on slowly that way.

The child that played cook with the pan an apron. A child that wore a ribbon. A child playing cowboy, a child enrolled in the so-called dance class, a child with dirty glasses. A child that were a headband intended to punch Frisk's shoulder, at which she never failed to punch back. How many friends she'd made, so suddenly. But only friends enough that when Frisk went to do something-to draw, to play on the old kids piano in the playroom, to run through a few levels on a computer game that she had not yet finished, or to watch whatever the teens were watching on TV-they were not far behind. They were near and all around, the opposite of the other kids who always seemed to find something else to do when Frisk came into their spaces. They would always venture conversation when it got too quiet.

Hazily, she was wary of them-they who were clashing against her memories. But by dinner, when the child with the glasses shared a chocolate chip cookie with her (sweet and warm, what she did not expect to enjoy) she was certain that they had always been this way. She went to bed after the director showed them all a movie, one she could have sworn she saw recently, hearing chatter and thinking little.

Her room was like she left it. Somehow, when she exhaled out and climbed under the covers, her throat was tight from tentative relief. The posters that hung in front of her eyes in the dark brought tears swimming over her vision. Strange. And yet she closed her eyes and slept.

While she was sleeping, she is privy to nightmarish visions. She was thrown out into them, like all this time her head had been held under water and was now tossed into open-air, cold and filled with noise, and someone was whispering into her ears. She wanted to go back to sleep.

She woke up. It was morning, and Mrs. Ellison was announcing pancakes for breakfast-a rarer treat. She shouldn't have slept in.

How many days passed? She enjoyed it, but at some point the weekend would end and she'd have to go to school.

If there were group activities-sometime, surely, Mrs. Ellison would let them play outside-she wanted to play with some of her friends. Not the teens, not the little kids.

She was relieved every time she went to bed, but the tightness in her throat only grew.

Until she couldn't breathe anymore.

Frisk woke up, a second after her eyes closed, gasping for breath, lying trembling in her sheets. It was dark in her room but her mind was filled with images, and one in particular that she couldn't shake. As the child struggled to discern the contours of her dresser and the lines of her posters, they presented themselves at unnatural angles. She tried to make those lines fit, to move them into more familiar shapes, that they stayed rigid. She pulled the fabric of the loan to the fists, linking, and inhaled deeply. Standing up, a thought intruded into her mind in a sensation that was horribly familiar. _It's your bed?_

Socks chafing the floor, Frisk ran her hand along the dresser and another intrusive thought occurred. _It's your dresser?_ She then ran her fingers along the wall, which only achieved more of the same. _It's a wall._ Her forehead was damp; Frisk wiped her face with her pajama sleeve, breath hitching from the spilling thoughts. She reached to turn on the light. Only to get another one. _Will you wake up everyone?_

Yes | Do Not

Her hand retreated from the light switch. She really should just go back to bed. Nightmares or no. A sudden wave of weariness passed over her body as she considered this, like when holding her breath for too long underwater past the point of wanting to surface. Her arms hung down by her sides and she looked at the closed door-thinking of everybody sleeping on the other side. The child took a deep breath and turned, then, back to her bed and lifted the covers.

Her throat was so tight that inhaling was painful.

Panic sent a cold wire through her veins, and Frisk scrambled for the light switch, for light to reaffirm everything she felt during the daytime. Barely had the thought pushed again into her mind, _Will you wake_ , than had she flipped the switch up.

The light didn't turn on; much to the child's despair, the bulb did not even flicker. But something changed. Frisk felt it shudder over her, a cold and dry sensation the same as she had felt in her sleep. The contours of her room swam in the corner of provision in the air became deathly quiet. Until Frisk had the distinct feeling something was moving noiselessly behind her bedroom door.

Now the tightness in her throat no longer contradicted her surroundings. The child rubbed her eyes and found her fingers oddly bony against her eyelids. She breathed shallowly in and out, trying to discern the sharp, bone white tips to her hands in the dark. They appeared like hallucinations. "...Huh?"

If she could find a mirror, maybe she could reassure herself of her own appearance. Even her teeth, chewing agitatedly on the insides of her cheeks, drew blood more readily than normal. At least, comparing to her current memories.

Speaking of those memories...

Frisk stood still, hands hanging again, and started breathing deeper while something- and without laying eyes on it, she was growing more certain that it wasn't human- moved around outside. Although her blood ran faster, her awakening didn't come with shock. Few people are shocked to wake up from a dream. She was sorely disappointed, but not surprised.

The question was what to do about it. Tentatively, based on one blurry recent memory, Frisk called out, "King Asgore?"

A voice entered her mind. Too loud, too deep to be mistaken for one of her thoughts. "What?"

Blinking furiously, she spoke in a harsh whisper. "Have you been here this entire time? Why didn't you say something?"

The voice did not pause. "I was waiting for you to wake up. I have no obligation as your alarm clock."

"I didn't know that you would even be able to talk to me like this in the first place." The child's voice dropping to a mumble, she continued to study the dark bedroom door.

"Exactly."

"..." Frisk ran her sharp fingers on the palm of her hand and found the sharp tips numb. Her uncomfortably sharp teeth were also numb. Slowly, she was exploring the rest of herself, looking for more numb protrusions or other changes which tightened her throat again.

The voice of Asgore, which was in its way so unnerving, offered no explanation. She took a deep breath. "Where am I?"

Only then did that deep voice return. "That creature made use of the human SOULS to take control this world. He constructed a SAVE file and placed us into it."

That creature? "It felt so much like my home."

"It must be nice, to go home for a few hours."

Frisk frowned, but did not comment again. There was no point asking what they should do next; that much was obvious, looking to the door. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pulled it open with a deep and slow inhale. The contours of her room in the shadows melted away behind her back.

In the hallway, colored gray, there was only one person moving about stiffly. Somehow, Frisk could see them as if they were lit with their own light, but not clearly-perhaps she was seeing them as unclearly as she had been seeing them the entire time. This time it was the child with the apron and pan, gave her sleepy smile. "You are up late Frisk. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be going to bed?"

"You are up late too," was all she said in reply. As Frisk took a step to the side, the other child moved with her. So she added, "... I can't sleep. I'm going outside."

"It's raining outside," said the other child, although Frisk heard nothing outside the windows. "It's cold, I wouldn't want you to get sick."

Another step to the side, which was quickly matched. "I want to get sick," answered the scowling girl, and the child laughed and snorted.

"C'mon, Frisk," they said with a dismissive wave.

Each movent she made was followed by the child holding the pan behind their back. Frisk's skin crawled. "I'll only be a minute. It's hard to breathe here."

"Still, I don't want you to leave. We can play outside in the morning."

Frisk inched slowly to the stairs. "I'll just get a snack."

"Don't go, go back to sleep."

The pit of Frisk's stomach turned cold. "Leave me alone."

The expression on the child's face was pitiful, and at the same time sickening. "I don't understand. Aren't we friends?"

In this her blood began to boil, Frisk said back, "No."

The other child's expression faded.

"You never lived here with me," Frisk whispered, and as she did she saw new shapes closing in from the edges of her peripheral vision. "You were never my classmates. I never met you before."

Appearing at her side, startling her, the child with the headband said, "Hey, come on, didn't we have fun together?"

She backed away. "Leave me alone!"

"Frisk, we're your _friends_ ," the child with the glasses held out their hands, imploring. "Just tell us what's wrong."

But the girl's blood boiled higher. "We're not friends. I don't-I didn't have any friends."

"That's exactly what we're trying to fix!" Shouted out the child with the faded ribbon in their hair. The child in the cowboy hat stepped closer as well, and in the same tone of voice as their fellows spoke, "Because we're your best friends."

"I'm your best friend!"

"I'm your best friend!"

"I'm your best friend!"

"I'm your best friend!"

"I'm your best friend!"

"I'm your best friend!"

Frisk's breath hitched, and she shook her head, backing up against the wall. They each closed in the pleadingly, the details of their forms turning hazy before her eyes. Their lines and bodies were simplicities of color. Feelings rose in her chest that weren't hers, not explicitly, with a beating too fast she welcomed them in the surging panic and anger. Something hot touched the point where teeth met gum in her mouth, and she wanted to cough to relieve her throat of smoke.

When suddenly it occurred to her that they each held weapons-that glove, that toy knife, toy gun, that pan-the flames swam down to her fingertips and kindled into shape against her dry claws and sweaty palm, warm and concussive. It flickered as on a candle.

Although she'd never done the movements before she knew to turn a flame into a wall of approaching fire, just with a sweep of her hand. Just like that the entire hallway melted away into black. Her "best friends" became whirlwinds and closed in on her with gigantic attacks, knives and bullets and the toes of shoes. So her hands lit with flame and her back erupted with heat, with Asgore's voice in her mind. "You cannot SAVE. I do not know what will happen when you die."

"I'm not gonna die!" The child took off into the air, startling even herself, and lost even the chance to ask how the king of monsters knew about her ability to SAVE.

There was a rhythm to defeating them, the souls with larger-than-life attacks. A transformed child, Frisk was in tune with the rhythm more than ever before. Little by little, she waited until was the right moment to attack, to FIGHT, and one blow was suddenly enough to defeat these enemies in swirls of red flame. Some of these movements were hers. But most of them probably belonged to the owner of the loud voice that understood what to do so much better.

But when the last brightly colored child and SOUL disappeared, when Frisk's feet touched some ground again, she was herself and under no other control. The hallway came back, if only loosely, and it were scattered lots of possessions the child had seen many times before. She looked over them all for a moment, catching her breath. "Did I kill them?" Maybe that was a dumb question to ask if they were already dead...

"You did what you have always done," said Asgore. The child knelt and, trembling, picked through the weapons and armor of the former souls. "You defended yourself until they let you be."

Frisk found what she was looking for and stood up. "..." She had her frying pan back. In her hand it was familiar, warm to her palm and imbuing an old sense of safety. Maybe it had belonged to another child once, but it had been hers for a while now.

Keeping her weapon in hand, although mindful of her new abilities, Frisk descended the stairs.

Back then, she would sometimes sneak out of bed and creeped down to the bottom floor, to over here and sometimes sneak a peek at what the grown-ups were watching on TV. She would get scolded badly, and she would react badly, whenever she was caught. Maybe that was one reason for her trepidation now.

But no one was up, and the TV was off. The downstairs was empty even of much of its furniture, and eerier than in the daytime. No more toys, no more games, the computers turning fuzzy, and an endless silence that was broken only by her own footsteps. Nothing looked familiar anymore, even more than just the alien nature of a house in the dark. And even as she strode through the media room with her frying hand, Frisk was watching for the lines of the dead children to emerge, as imploring as before, from the shadows. An exhausted snarl curled her lips, but then her eyes caught upon the hallway mirror as she approached the janitors closet. Her step slowed and her mouth went slack.

It was harder for her to recognize herself, as well, while her adjusting eyes took in the features reflected back. Her hair, once a simple traditional bowl cut, had become ragged and long, so dark that it was almost black-only now was she becoming aware of the bangs of the rise. Her eyes-her bloodshot, yellow eyes that burned intensely back at her, the most alien aspect of all. Those eyes flickered up; poking through her coarse hair were two pointed horns, hard and smooth to the touch and followed up with two little stubs behind them. Feeling the spot where the horns met her scalp made her skin crawl.

Her fingers, clawed, her teeth, razor-sharp, her throat, sore... Frisk whispered, "What did you do to me?"

"You took my soul," grumbled Asgore, from somewhere inside of her.

"I didn't mean to..." she replied, her voice so hoarse that only he, lodged in her heart, could surely hear it. To that, she heard no reply.

The child's swallowed and continued moving. She knew that if she were to get outside, she would know where else to go. The door to the blacktop was just past the little cafeteria. The cafeteria that suddenly turned her stomach as she passed through it, thinking of the delicious food that she ate day by day in her dreams. She took a deep breath, crossed to the door, and pulled it open.

When she stepped out, there was no outside. Only blackness and a redness that lingered in the corner of her vision, feet clicking on a floor she couldn't even make out. The door closed behind her, and when Frisk turned to look to the building she'd left, she could no longer see the door or the walls of her "home" in the blackness. She was isolated in the empty space. Gritting her teeth, she faced forward and began to walk, with no destination in sight.

The dark was ever oppressive, but there came a voice after so long, loud but at the same time the same as ever. It brought Frisk to a halt faster than the dark did. "I don't understand... I sent you back home." Frisk said nothing. So it continued, "maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Something heavy hung far above her somewhere; Frisk could feel its descent. She looked up, and a thrill of fear touched her gut at the gigantic, misshapen shadow. Still she could not speak, even at the sound of that heavy, powerful breathing up by the ceiling.

Then in front of her, above her, a huge TV where to life and she saw a familiar face, Flowey's face, fill up the screen. His heartbroken and hurt expression almost mirrored her shock and confusion in intensity.

"That beast really did a number on you, didn't he?" He said, and as he did Frisk's SOUL came to her front, before her chest. It resembled a clover with two leaves, one leaf red and the other white. "What does it feel like, having someone else's SOUL inside you?" Without waiting for the child to make an answer, he said, "Me, I can feel all those human souls wriggling inside me! It's so weird, after being empty for so long!" He gave a shudder.

Frisk took a step back, and could even feel Asgore bridle in her gut. "Why did you do this?"

The face on the screen tilted. "You want to know why I did all this? It's very simple. I've been empty for a long time, but I still know that I don't want you to leave me here alone."

"But," she stammered. "But I wouldn't-I said-"

"I know what you _said_. And I know what you _promised_. But I also know that friends break promises, and do things they say they wouldn't, and that kind of ending is very, very sad." The pedals that wreathed his head drooped, and suddenly his face turned unfamiliar, twisting into a boss monster's snouted and fanged visage as he smiled. "But I almost have the power to make this a happy ending, don't you see?"

"I don't understand," Frisk whispered, taking another step back. "I don't understand."

"It doesn't have to be from any breaking of the barrier, said Flowey, and his face attached to the TV screen, with that large shadow, sank lower and lower into view. The flower's face reverted and became strained. "Any mingling of humans and monsters, they don't matter. It's just us that matter. The two of us. We're best friends, aren't we? So why don't you want to stay with me?"

"I want to go home!" She shouted. "Undo whatever it is you did, and I'll go home." Her blood boiled, rage overtaking the shock completely.

"I said almost," he returned quietly. "I almost have that power. I only have six souls. I need one more to become a god."

Frisk's entire body turned cold. "Flowey..."

"You don't want to join them? It's okay! You might not have your SAVE file anymore, but I made you a new one while you were sleeping!"

From all throughout the darkness was some kind of a harsh illumination, and horror froze Frisk's heart at the sight of the monstrosity hanging from nowhere, to which the flower in the TV was attached. A monstrosity such as she had never seen before.

"I saved over your dream. So that you can stay with me and be happy, forever."

Gigantic fleshy jaws flanked by eyes held at an unnatural angle, gigantic vines and clubs for arms, strong on machine parts and pipes.

"Please don't stop me."

It was covered in beautiful flowers and white leaves. The child's frozen heart was warmed with fire, and filling her shaking hands with it she took flight.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This took SO LONG for me to write I'm so sorry D8 I had a very stressful time in school. While I'm back in school again, I'm hoping this time it won't be quite as straining that I'll at least be able to update more frequently than after months orz.

Anyway, hope you enjoy a little bit of what I imagine an Omega Flowey to be in Underfell (Lotus Flowey?)

Please forgive any spelling errors I dictated most of this orz.

 **Next Chapter:** A Conclusion


	9. A Conclusion

A lot of time passed since he saw the child last, and in spite of himself he was getting anxious. With the king gone as well it wasn't hard to guess what had happened and to reassure himself with that, but all the same he couldn't help thinking about it as the days passed, one after the next, without a word of news. Everyone else around him was moving, scrambling even, but he was only vaguely taking in the changes. Perhaps that was easy when not a lot of the changes were good. Too much anarchy, the population's rapid instability, the queen's return and the decrees she made that thankfully not many were listening to. The Royal Guard disbanded. Something something his brother was heartbroken, at least until Sans reminded him that he and Undyne had already gotten fired earlier.

It wasn't safe to go outside anymore. So he just stayed in his room all day, looking up crap on the Undernet and waiting for the power to be inevitably cut off from Snowdin town and shut off. He sent a letter to Alphys, but she never replied back. She wasn't posting on her Undernet account anymore. He blocked it, and picked on his brother's account instead. Listening to his shrieks from the room next to his, when Papyrus logged in every night, turned his permanent smile crooked.

When not surfing their minuscule web, Papyrus seemed to prefer speaking to his other self over th phone. That was, at least, how it sounded whenever his booming, affected growl rose up to Sans' room from the kitchen. He didn't pay much mind to the conversation-his heart was constantly racing too much.

At some point, when it was early in the morning and his brother's furious snarling faded away into the artificial sunlight, he couldn't take it anymore. Sans shut his laptop and stared at his bedroom wall in the dark, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted. The child had slept in this room before, and while staying here had marked tallies on the wall with a faded marker. He could have washed them off, but could never find the energy. The name "Undyne" was written over the marks, and he tried to scratch them out with his fingers only to fail miserably. Oh, well. They would get fainter with time and dirt.

His chest felt tight; Sans pulled out his phone, scrolling through his tiny contact list. He called one number in particular, putting the phone to his sweaty skull and listening to that ring. He hoped that it would ring forever. _don't pick up..._ he thought, staring at the wall. _i'll just leave a message._

 _Click._

The ringing stopped and with it, Sans stopped breathing. "oh. you picked up," he squeaked out with the last of his available breath, wheezing as he heard a yawn from the other side of the line. Come to think of it, it must be a little early in the morning for a kid. He wondered if he should tell them he'll call back later- later, when they were sure to be totally asleep. That would be nicer, easier to talk into than with the voice on the other end.

It murmured, "Hey," in a rough tone.

Another soft wheeze, Sans covered the phone to hide the sound. "hiya. what's up, pipsqueak?"

"..."

The long pause made him sweat, and he uttered a noise from behind his teeth like clearing a nonexistent throat. "it's been a while, hasn't it? ...just wondering how you're doing. if, uh, you got home safe and all."

To that, there was no reply. It was as if he'd just gotten an answering machine, after all, save for the soft breathing that just passed through the receiver. For a moment he was frozen, unable to think of something more to venture, not sure if he was even going to get an answer or not. Well, the child had replied, hadn't they? The simple act of picking up the phone was proof that they were still alive.

"guess that's a maybe..." he said finally, sighing. "well uh, stuff has been happening down here since you left. like... for one thing, the queen came back." His voice trailed off even as he spoke, the sounds of his brother shouting at his own phone rising into his room suddenly. He must have gotten up while Sans was sweating over the call.

The phone crackled a little. "Sans?"

"oh, uhh..." he wheezed again, even quieter. "seems she's trying to make some changes. everyone's been, well, doing their own thing since the king died, y'know?"

"..."

Goddamn this quiet child to hell. "maybe alphys is... busy now, working for her. she's a lot more likely to check in on her now and then. haven't seen her around that much lately. and paps and undyne, they're doing what they can to keep the peace around here, since the royal guard's fallen apart recently."

"Sans?"

"it's been weird, uh, is what i'm saying," he cut in, feeling his non-heart ache as it beat harder. "don't worry about it, kid. at least, don't worry about me. if it gets too bad, i don't have to stay."

He was already thinking of his machine in the shed before their voice came again, "I thought you'd be gone already." It gave him a long pause, that whisper, as he sat on his greasy bed.

There wasn't really a good response he could give, for one thing. Lamely, all he could do was utter, "well, just got some stuff i still need to do here, to do first, y'know?"

"..."

A sigh escaped him. "you've been through a lot, kid. met people, got in fights... i'm sure you'll be a lot happier up there, but, uh, i hope you had some fun too while you were here. hard as it was."

No response, not even breathing.

"well, anyway, i'm gonna miss you pipsqueak. heheheh. i'll see ya later."

And not giving himself time to question his own words, he hung up.

* * *

He could feel and hear it as the child hung up the phone, placing it on the bench beside them both.

Suddenly it was quiet above and below, the world washed a cool color while grey clouds rolled overhead in a herd. Neither of them could speak to break that quiet it seemed, not in the wake of the phone call. But that was only to be expected between them by now. It was the quiet, the absence of voices, that they were more comfortable with than anything else, and even that just barely.

That was why even in all this time, in all these days, Frisk hadn't gone back to what he was sure would be her home.

Instead of commenting on the unexpected call he only looked through her eyes a moment. At the empty village where she had been creeping into houses, eating and sleeping as she saw fit. This village existed even in his time, before the barrier was erected- although there had been quite a few modern conveniences added to it since then, including utility poles and paved parts of the road. But modernized or not, it was abandoned now. Abandoned, perhaps, recently.

Thinking about why that may be made him broil. Seeing leaves scatter in the wind, he made like them instead and rode along the wave of Frisk's thoughts, what few he was actually privy to.

The surface was chilly today. He had forgotten how the weather changes on the surface, for it had been so much warmer the day before, and so rainy even before that. What fitting weather the sky decided to visit upon them, for this very moment. Unlike anything that monsters experienced underground, where the static weather only went from extreme to extreme and had no room for this grey.

In the gloom and chill he was even beginning to get drowsy, and the idea of slumbering in the child's heart was again appealing to him. He was often tired, so very tired, nowadays. Not having a body only helped him to realize it sooner. In some ways this stirred his anger again, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Well, there was perhaps something he could do. And now was as good a time as any. "You wish to go back."

Her quiet voice dropped down from between her dry lips, as she leaned back to watch the sky. "He knows I want to go back." She reached for her own arm, plucking at her sleeve, which had become damp in the weather and clung uncomfortably to her skin. "They're all doing really badly back there, aren't they?"

"There is no more hope," said he, matter-of-factly. "There was little to begin with, and now you have taken the rest."

"I didn't mean to," she said. In the distance a gold flower waved, the kind clustered thickly around the edges of the village and painted on the fronts of ancient houses. More quietly she whispered, "It wasn't my fault."

"It doesn't mean that it did not happen." They both yawned, at once, and their respective breaths halted and shuddered within Frisk's chest until ending in the sound of a sob.

In a moment the girl had regained her composure, and rubbing her nose on her damp sleeve she murmured, "I want to go back."

"Why have you not?"

"Lotsa reasons."

Through her eyes they both looked back up at the grey sky. Those reasons were not truly so hard to guess. Asgore only moved restlessly within again, like a pacing tiger, and she breathed in deeper. Could she feel his discontent? "I'm outside."

Had it been so long since she had seen the sky? Trace memories in her head spoke of weeks underground, but for him a few weeks were a blink. Still, though, the memories gave him shame. Such as he did not feel these days.

"And," she continued, reaching into her inventory. "I don't want all this to go away."

For a moment not even her open thoughts elaborated. She had in her hands a big bunny plush which took her attention, sweet and white with an orange chest. Easily soiled by dirt, but it looked new.

Impatiently, he rumbled, "This?"

"...If I go back, I mean, you won't remember," she whispered back, hugging the toy to her chest. For all her violence, she was quite childlike. "You'll fight me again."

"I may not."

"You might."

The dampness of air threatened to turn into an actual drizzle, but Frisk merely blew a hot breath of smoke out of her parched mouth and onto her sweater, soothing herself. Asgore considered speaking further, but she only went on, "And if I do go back, I won't know what to do. Flowey's gone, probably won't talk to me. ...And the barrier will still be there." Another hot breath, and then she was silent.

"Have you no one to call on?"

Faces flashed in her mind, some he knew and some he did not.

"Are you prepared to leave your friends behind because you are at a loss?"

He would have said more, perhaps prompted even more faces, but here Frisk exhaled sharply and held the stuffed rabbit in front of her face, summoning a full memory. Sans, whom Asgore knew well enough, gives it to her in an unfamiliar environment, smiling as if begging without words. The memory faded fast, leaving only the little toy's face.

Quietly the child put the rabbit on her lap and warbled, in a steady simple tune, "Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head."

"What is this."

"Shh!" She hissed, and her cheeks grew warm. "...Along came the good mother, and she said, 'I'm going to give you ~two chances~. And when those ~two chances~ are up, I'll turn you into a goon!'"

The bunny only sagged, and reluctantly Frisk put it back in her inventory. She took a deep breath, looking for a final time at the sky.

"..." The king searched for words, but found only sorrow. He too might not see the sky again. The wind blowing on the human's skin would be the only thing left that would be available to him. And unlike the human, he wouldn't have any extra chances or memories left. Without lungs, he sighed.

"See you later, Asgore. It would be nice if you'd remember this," Frisk yawned. She closed her eyes.

For a moment, everything in his mind ground to a complete halt.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** You might consider this a bit of a halfway point? 0 0

 **Next Chapter:** All You Have To Do Is...


	10. All You Have To Do Is

Right outside of Asgore's throne room, her eyes opened.

The hallway rumbled softly, the sensation moving through her legs and up her back—a cold awakening, telling her of how sore her body felt. She scooted up to her feet, taking a deep breath. And pressing up to one of the walls, she glanced back in the direction of the throne room.

This wasn't the last place that she had SAVED—in fact, on the way in, Frisk hardly remembered there being a SAVE point in this spot. She also hardly remembered being asleep shortly before or after a SAVE. And the ache in her muscles, like she had been floored by a truck slamming into her chest, was so alarming that the child stretched hard and groaned in place.

A thought occurred to her, one that lurched her stomach. Keeping a hand on the wall and another curled around the entrance frame, she peered into the darkness of the throne room.

She saw him by the back of his cape trailing over the bent and cowed flowers, his gigantic form receding and his head bowed low. He was not looking her way, but a cold thrill ran down her spine from her eyes at the sight, when her gaze alighted on his dark figure. Her mouth went dry, and when from somewhere there echoed a squeak her heart jumped into her mouth. The giant form hesitated in his stride, and he turned his head—partially in her direction. The horns dipped.

Then there was another rumble, and Asgore turned forwards again. He continued to move, until he had disappeared into the hallway opposite the child.

Frisk's pent up breath poured out, her fingers white by the time she released her hold. Not wishing to push her luck, she began in the other direction.

Where could she go?

She came back without a plan.

Maybe… Frisk stopped short in the grey hall, wringing her hands, and she called out, "Flowey?"

Although she didn't know what she expected, it was still disheartening when her old friend did not appear. "Flowey, I'm not mad," she called out after a moment, her voice gaining a sharper edge than before. She stomped her foot three times, waited, and still the hall was empty. Eyes and head heavy, the child pulled out her phone. Her pointer finger waited coiled over the 1 for a very long time, while her mind stalled trying to remember a number that she never had asked for.

Then it punched in a number she had.

Ring, ring.

It kept ringing. Frisk resisted grinding her teeth, idly rubbing her knuckles between her fingers.

Finally, it clicked. "'sup?" Came out of the speaker.

"Hi, Sans," Frisk whispered into the receiver, wandering down the grey hall she found herself in without aim.

After a long pause, Sans' voice crackled back into her ears. "oh, you. what's up squirt?"

She could almost detect the wheeze in his voice; perhaps she had called the wrong person, after all. Her mind stalled again, remembering when he had last called her, and her voice softened without her meaning it to. "Umm…" He didn't remember that call. All he knew was their last meeting in the final corridor, everything that had happened after completely unraveled. Her promise, his prank, the anticipation of the end, all of the things that she had herself forgotten by now were flaring back up in her head.

Her consciousness grew cold and hitched uncomfortably to her own exclusive memories. She rubbed the material of her sweater through her fingers.

But her hesitation went on for too long, and the aggravated sigh Sans made at the other end stirred her ire. "look, kid, i'm getting tired and it's been a long day. is there something you wanted to say here?"

"I lied, before," she blurted, cutting off the tip of his words. "…When I told you I was going to kill Asgore, I was just lying to get you to shut up."

You tell Sans you won't uphold your promise.

"you lied to me?" His voice didn't change speed or volume. If it weren't for the scraping wheeze that just reached her from the other end of the line, she wouldn't have guessed he was upset at all from finding this out. "so…uh, that mean you're not going home after all…?"

Now, heavy breathing aside, Sans became very quiet. She sucked in and out as she murmured, "Can you give me a phone number?"

"a phone number, kid?"

"I want to call someone."

A weak chuckle. "text message not your style, huh?"

"I want to call the other Frisk."

At this, he grew silent again. Perhaps mulling it over, but Frisk herself was impatient and spoke louder, "I wanna ask how the other Frisk broke the barrier, I want to ask how things ended in that world."

"you really think that'll do any good, squirt?" As the child sighed, and wandered further down the corridor, he continued, "their world and ours are as different as, well, night and day. how do you think any solution on their end would work in ours?"

There was a room down this way that she had never noticed before. "Don't you want... me to save everyone?" Dark and grey, like the rest of the castle, but empty of any furniture-save for a row of coffins. A chill ran through her; as she stepped farther inside, she listened to Sans fumble for a response. For several minutes he seemed unable to think of one, even something as simple as a "yes" or "no" beyond his grasp.

Finally, he sighed. Dramatically, irritably. "y'know what kid, sure. i'll give you that other kid's number. don't mean it's gonna do anything, though."

"I don't care, just give it to me."

"alright, alright." One more wheeze, and he said, with Frisk just able to hear a smirk in his voice, "if you want to cheat."

A snort, on her end as well. "I do want to cheat." He gave her a number, and she wrote it down on an Iscream wrapper, biting on her lip.

She approached one of the coffins in her side, with a red heart on the top and a plated inscription. A thought intruded into her mind when she rested a hand on the top, _It's way less comfortable than it looks._ Made of metal, the sting on her knuckles told her that the coffin was kept cool by some means, and she leaned over it to get a better look at the plate on top-which also stung her body through her threadbare sweater.

"Anna," it said.

Shivering, she backed away from the coffins, holding the phone and wrapper tightly to her chest as she gasped softly. It was so quiet and empty in this room, even the idea of turning around intimidated her. The child started instead to back up to where she remembered the exit to be. But as she did so, someone's warmth touched her back, and she uttered a smothered scream as the phone clattered onto the stone floor. She turned, seeking a friendly face.

Now, though, when she spotted her, she had no choice but to take several steps back. The wrapper she mangled in her hands while her heart splashed into her stomach. Her head, that had for once been silent, filled with a melancholy song, and she flickered with anger.

Toriel. Her black delta robe was as torn up as ever, maybe even a little dirtier and more ragged than she had last seen it. Soot and ash discolored her white fur, and Frisk wondered where it had come from. Her great yellowed eyes, more watery than last she'd seen them, took Frisk in with an unfocused blink, and she smiled. "Child... there you are."

"..." Her voice had left her. Frisk struggled to speak, inhaled, and remained silent. She knelt and quietly picked up the phone that she had dropped, while Toriel remained perfectly still, hands clasped together and expression inscrutably pleased.

But the monster nodded, and said, "You are surprised. I understand. I had made it clear in the past that I could not come after you when you left the ruins."

Rather, Frisk had been hoping that that was the case. But those hopes were pretty dashed now, with the woman standing right in front of her. Without breathing much she took another step back, going for the frying pan in her inventory.

Toriel at first seemed unaware of her reaction as she murmured, clasping her paws together, "Since the day that you left the Ruins I have not paused to stop thinking of you and your progress. There is much I have heard, and I know how you must have suffered on your own. I..." and here she hesitated, taking a deep breath. Her eyes flickered over the child's face. "You have suffered on your own..."

She wrung her hands. "Mmm... mmm... you have suffered..."

"Leave me alone," Frisk spoke out clearly, planting her feet down on the cold, hard slab of the floor. "I don't need you here." She hoped that Toriel didn't notice the tremor in her voice.

The boss monster lowered her head. "All children need somebody... a mother, a father..." her words trailed. "...Sister... brother... sibling... uncle... aunt... niece..."

"Stop it!" Frisk shouted, and Toriel's head snapped back up, eyes widening a little. "Even if I need someone, I don't need anyone like you."

"Mmm," the heartbroken sound out of Toriel's lips made her sick with guilt. "Then tell me, who do you need?" Frisk wrapped her arms around herself, and Toriel approached. She plucked at the child's sweater at the shoulder. "Your clothes look much better than last I heard them described," she mused.

The child didn't move. "I don't know what I need. I'm stuck," she said at last. And as Toriel tilted her head, she went on. "I wanted to go home, but when I finally got out... by the time I got out I knew I couldn't leave it like this."

Toriel's arms dropped down to her sides. "You don't wish to go... home?"

"I want to make things better. I don't know how to do that."

Toriel tutted, "That burden is too great for one child."

"I know," Frisk muttered bitterly. "It takes seven."

A giggle and a snort, and Toriel stepped away. "Regardless. On my way here, it looked to me like you had changed a lot of people along the way. More than someone can ask of you, child."

Slowly, Frisk's thoughts turned back. Hidden in her burrow were the stacks of tally marks; her heart ached, turned gnarled, and she shrugged half-heartedly. "It's not enough."

"You do not wish to leave..." said Toriel, and her face took on a strange twinge. "My child, you don't have to worry about what is enough. Only, come back with me and I can give you a good home. You can relax, eat some pie..."

Her big furry hand was outstretched; sudden panic seizing her heart, Frisk slapped it away. "That wouldn't fix it!"

"No...? What would fix it? What is going to be fixed... mmm..." She wrung her hands again, frowning deeply, and then finally she said, "But it is so gloomy in this place. Let us leave it. _He_ is probably about."

Asgore striding through the dead flowers flashed back in her mind's eye, and she wasn't so sure. Somebody had to have left her outside of the throne room. She peered around Toriel as if expecting him to be there looking in on both of them. But the hall was empty, at least for now. She swallowed. "I have to make a phone call first."

"First... and then...?"

Frisk scratched her head, and eyed the coffins not far away. "... I'll tell you when I'm done. Okay?"

Surprisingly, she nodded, and Frisk hurried out into the hall.

She dialed a number, and the person at the other end picked up.

They spoke, while inside Toriel waited, rubbing soot from her fur, checking her breath and straightening out her robes. She heard little of the conversation, only the rise and fall of Frisk's voice.

When the child returned, giving an awfully blank stare, she smiled before any words could get out of her mouth. And eyebrows slowly furrowing into a frown, Frisk said, "I'm not gonna come with you."

Toriel's smile fell. "...Oh."

"You can come with me, though."

"Go with you... Where?"

Frisk looked back down the hall, and put her phone away in her inventory. Her stomach felt sick. "I'm going to meet with some people."

The monster tilted her head in the other direction. "Oh? Why?"

"... 'cause... that's all I have to do." And Frisk blinked. Queasy. "I think."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It took me so long to finally finish this chapter and it's a little lackluster, I'm sorry guys. A huge part of that is because of school and work getting all of my time and effort, but I've felt a little stuck here too.

My motivation for this series remained/remains strong but my motivation for this fic kind of fizzled, I don't have a lot of new things to bring to the table when it comes to the Underfell end game and I'm sure everyone reading it already knows how Undertale itself ends.

So I was really just wrapping up loose ends so I could get to the next fic, which would be a new scenario, and that's kind of a crummy reason to write something, orz. That being said there are things I want to share before I'm finished with this fic, I've got more ideas of how I want to proceed from here, and I hope you enjoy what I end up putting out as I go forward. I'll also try to get the next chapter out a lot sooner than I did for this one ;w;

 **Next Chapter:** I Looked It Up


	11. I Looked it Up

More than an hour later, even when Gerson departed back to his shop, her house was still a mess. Undyne ignored it, watching the pot of soup simmer on the stove instead.

Cooking was an extremely mundane activity, but she had surprisingly had a fill of violence for one afternoon after watching Mettaton get the hell beat out of him by that snot-nosed brat. Undyne stirred and added salt, sniffing the mixture half-heartedly while the TV went on in the background, not broadcasting anything but continuing that loud blare that started up when there wasn't anything on.

Her phone she'd also discarded, ignoring the occasional beeping as she received text message after text message. She knew who it was, and she had no interest in indulging him tonight. The human was probably gone, the king was probably dead, and she was out of a job. And putting up with Papyrus on top of that? She grumbled and turned up the heat on the stove, while the phone went off for the umpteenth time.

The smell of the soup was calming, and Undyne raised the spoon to take a small sip. Needed more spices. WAY more spices.

Nah.

Cooking was so boring.

As if to prevent her from nodding off into the soup, a knocking on the door drew her attention immediately. Putting the soup spoon in her mouth, she left the stove to peek through the peephole with an annoyed grumble. She couldn't see anyone through the hole, though, and she blinked in irritation at the cool Waterfall night outside. Yet, even as she was searching for the source of the knocking, it started up again.

"What the hell?!" Undyne kicked the door, and a yelp resounded from the other side. "Who is it?!"

"It's me, you crazy bitch!"

Undyne chewed on the soup spoon and then opened the door a crack, the deadbolt keeping it from going any further. She peeked out through the crack, and there saw the little child, dressed in their orange and black sweater, that had been pestering her for so long. Their face was as set as stone. For a second, Undyne thought that a vein was going to pop out of her forehead and with a growl, she undid the deadbolt and unlocked her door fully.

She ripped the spoon out of her mouth while Frisk stepped across her threshold. "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be off killing our king or something?"

The child, missing a flower on their shoulder, looked around the old mess and furrowed their eyes at the loud meaningless TV. Undyne didn't recall ever letting them see the TV before. "I'm not gonna kill Asgore," they said finally.

At that Undyne snorted and laughed, returning to her pot of soup and stirring it. "Oh boy, that mean you came over to finally get defeated by me? Give me a minute to finish this up and then I'll-"

"That's not what I'm here for either."

Undyne tapped the spoon against the side of the pot, and then drank off whatever excess was left, as she turned off the heat. "Oh yeah? What are you doing here then?"

The house went totally silent when Frisk turned off the TV. Their speech, as well, faltered. "I'm here to..." Undyne turned around, eyebrows raised, and they began again with a glare. "I... I'm..."

Undyne sneered big with her large sharp teeth.

Frisk wrung their fingers and grumbled, "I'm... _sorry_ for making such a big mess in your house."

The kitchen was covered in spilled food, the table with broken dishes, and the chairs were cracked down the center (which weren't really Frisk's fault, but they happened only a little while after their encounter with each other...) That wasn't even all of the Undyne leaned back on the counter, both palms pressed down on the surface. "Woah. Didn't think I was gonna hear that out of your mouth."

"I was being stupid." Their head remained lowered, and their eyes too, not looking up at Undyne's face. "I want to help you clean it up."

"Oh shit," said Undyne, and then that was it for a second. While they stood face to face, Frisk flinched where they stood, and their hands fidgeted with the material of their sweater.

She stood up straight, leaving the counter behind. She bent down to be at level with the child's face, squinting with her good eye. "What's up with you? Y'duck out of going home to come clean up some mess in my house?"

Frisk rolled their eyes. "I know." They walked to the table, making a small circle away from Undyne as they did so, and pulled their sleeves over their hands. They started to pick up the broken pieces of Undyne's dishes. "... Jeeze, did you wreck this place up even worse since I was in here last?"

"Okay, so housekeeping isn't my strong suit," Undyne snapped, folding her arms. "How good are _you_ at cleaning, twerp?"

"Well I'm actually doing it," was their reply. "For one thing."

The former captain snorted and laughed, keeping her arms folded as she watched. The kid was actually being serious, she found as she studied their behavior for a while. Picking up the things that were overturned, brushing food crumbs into their sleeve and tossing it in the trash, and then carefully doing the same for the broken plates Undyne hadn't bothered to brush into a pile. They found the paper towels quickly and soaked up spills that had been left untouched for so many hours, using water to clean what didn't want to come off with a few swipes.

Every now and again the child would glance over at her, as if expecting Undyne to lift a finger to help her with it. But Undyne was more preoccupied with gulping down her pot of finished soup, and that she achieved by holding the both with both hands and overturning the broth into her wide waiting mouth. Seeing her do that, Frisk scoffed but didn't say anything.

Eventually, when the mess was about two thirds cleaned, Undyne had finished off the food. Only then did she step forward and start lending a hand. Between the two of them, the only things that couldn't be set right were the broken chairs. Undyne put them off into a corner as she slapped her hands together. "Well, I'll be. I sure didn't expect that to happen today."

"..." As if facing a dearth of things to say, Frisk shrugged, eyeing the floor instead of her.

Looking them over, Undyne grunted and smirked, her sharp teeth poking through her lips. "You know, you fought me and played dirty each time. You got me fired, you wrecked my house, then you came back over here to fix it up. But you're not so bad, kid."

Frisk rubbed their hands together, daring to meet her eyes for an instant. "You mean that?"

"Sure do. Kind of a shame I won't be seeing you around." She shrugged. "But hey, I'm sure another human's gonna fall down here eventually, maybe one that's a little more a _chump_. Then I and everyone else'll be coming for you."

The child rolled their eyes. "Something like that, maybe. See you later, Undyne."

It was after Frisk left that Undyne returned to the empty pot she left on the counter, all smiles gone and a far more strung expression over her face. There was a flicker of regret; she had eaten all of the soup, so that when she knocked the pot over with a hasty fist there wasn't any satisfying spill.

"Dumb kid."

* * *

He'd been sitting on the couch for a while, but his TV was off. Papyrus moodily contemplated his own boots, his own gloves, and his own armor. He contemplated the ceiling and the immaculate floor, the kitchen he could just see in the right corner with the light turned off. He had been so busy over the last couple of days that he had forgotten to restock his own fridge after the time that a gremlin raided it.

The overhead light hurt his head; Papyrus massaged the temple of his skull and grunted.

"yo." He jumped, startled, at the sound of a greeting and a wheeze. Sans appeared as if out of nowhere at the side of the couch, his skull covered in a thin layer of sweat as he offered his brother a strained smile.

Papyrus harrumphed, sinking into the couch. "WHAT'S EATING YOU?"

Sans remained where he stood and shrugged. "dunno. got a weird phone call a little bit ago."

"WHAT PHONE CALL?"

Sans scratched his head, and then shrugged. "uh. i dunno. but it sure is eating at me."

Typical. Papyrus would have rolled his eyes if he had any. He just turned back to concentrate on the opposite wall, or whatever it was that he had next selected as his staring spot. Trying not to think. Trying not to pay attention to his brother, to the TV, or to anything else.

Sans was making that second one really hard, as he wheezed and cleared his throat, and he wished he was just a little bit closer so that he could more easily clobber him. "how're y', uh, feelin, boss?'"

"I DO NOT FEEL ANYTHING," he snapped. "STOP BOTHERING ME."

"okay, okay." Sans took a step back. "i'll leave you a-bone."

Papyrus screeched, ripping off his boot and throwing it at him in one smooth motion. " _SANS_."

Sans laughed, weakly, and he backed up several paces. He was easily able to dodge the boot, which just filled Papyrus with the urge to throw the other one. But that wouldn't be very smart. "i'm just sayin' that you've uh, you've been sitting there for a while."

"HAND ME MY BOOT BACK."

"...sure."

He tossed it back Papyrus' way and he caught it, scowling, buckling it back on. Then he ripped off his other one and threw it, which hit his shocked brother with a sharp thud. " _ow_."

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET."

"i get the boot."

" _SANS!_ "

"heh heh."

But Sans' weak chuckle got cut off by a knock at the door, and both the boys jumped. Sans wordlessly tossed the second thrown boot back to his brother, turning to stare at the other side of the door. "uh..."

Even though his not-heart was knocking, Papyrus snarled, "WELL, ANSWER IT!"

And Sans did, cracking their front door open to have a look. Then Sans let out a strangled noise, and he stepped away to let Papyrus have a look.

Papyrus saw Frisk, giving an irritated look to both of them.

His eyesockets got wide, as wide as it was possible for them to get, and he got up from the sofa immediately. Frisk was half in the doorway with the door only half open, head tilted, like they might have worried-if worried was the term-they were interrupting something. There was nothing to interrupt; Papyrus steeled himself to keep from rushing to the door. What were they doing back here? Did they decide to stay? Did they fail? Was Asgore dead? Was Asgore going to come visit their house and threaten to kill him again...

The questions congested in his not-throat. "-HUMAN!" He barked, and then went silent.

Sans, who was if possible sweating even more now and rigid besides, smiled larger and said, "yo kid, what's up?"

A long pause, and Frisk shrugged half-heartedly in their direction. Before, to both their surprise, a small smile appeared on their face. "Oh what the hell, it's just you guys." Papyrus wrung his hands as they slipped into the house and shut the door behind them.

"I think I need your help with something," they said.

* * *

When it was dark, it was way easier not to see the clutter and the buildup of her own mistakes, her own poor decisions. It was easier to sit in the silence, in the glow of her handheld computer screen, and blame someone else for it while she swiped her fingers across the top.

It was easier, too, to wait for the inevitable to occur, an inevitability that she both dreaded and anticipated.

The dark wasn't so easy for others in the laboratory. Several, several floors above, on the ground and top floor the only light left was the little amount of light given off by Mettaton's eyes. Each time he blinked, what was only a habitual motion, that dim light disappeared and completely drowned the room in darkness. Occasionally, he would use his remaining hands to check for the amount of battery power he had left. His form was, as Alphys reassured him once, incredibly efficient; it would take a long time for darkness to take over completely.

He tapped a crack in his chest; sure would be nice if Alphys would come up and solve the rest of his problems, though. For starters, reattach those legs that were lying pretty much fixed up next to him on her workbench. It was lonely waiting for repairs that he wasn't sure were going to come.

That was where he was, upright on the workbench but his head slouched over, waiting in an ever more sulky state. The door opened, though, and new light spilled in on the floor below. He was shocked; he used his arms to twist himself a little, to lean and see who was coming in now. It couldn't be Alphys, she couldn't have gone from point C to point A without him seeing.

The little figure he recognized quickly, for after all it hadn't been that long ago. "Oh, my!" He wobbled terribly on the workbench when he brought a gloved hand up to his mouth, smothering his own exclamation.

He folded his arms, and watched from his vantage point. That was Frisk, down there, only missing a flower friend on their shoulder. They had their frying pan in their grip as before, but it was loose and only a... weapon formality, or so it appeared to him. Noting that, and the halting way that they walked, Mettaton himself relaxed and settled down into his original position.

It wasn't long before, stepping into the middle of the laboratory, their scratchy little voice called out, "Alphys?"

"She's not here, sweetheart," Mettaton called, and the child whirled in a circle with an audible gasp. He chuckled. "Oh, I wasn't trying to startle you."

"Mettaton...?"

He made a noise, like clearing his throat if he even had a need for such a function. "Above you, dear. No no, I mean I'm on the second floor. Follow the tiny sliver of light."

Even with those instructions he almost had a good laugh, when Frisk tried to race to him on the down escalator first. They yelped, stumbling back down until they hit the bottom, and got back up to race to the other side. They tripped over something and yelped again. Covering his mouth and mirth with one hand, Mettaton idly buffed his own midsection with the other amidst the sound of boxes being kicked and Frisk's own rapid footfalls.

He flashed them a dazzling, pointy smile when they finally-and slowly-approached the workbench, their eyes adjusting to the dark as they studied him. "You don't look so good."

"Not true," he said with a pout, and then a second brilliant smile. "You take that back."

Expression the same as always, Frisk's eyes flickered towards the legs and second pair of arms lying next to him. "Is Alphys gonna come back to finish fixing you up?"

A sigh. "That sure is the question, isn't it? The situation looks terribly grim from where I'm sitting, so to speak. Alphys was having a little snack break and then she started muttering to herself in this unfortunate _tone_ and... then she turned off the lights, went down into her private elevator, and I haven't seen her since. She's in one of her... _moods_ , I think."

The child turned their head around to look beyond the railing, "Private elevator? Where does it go?"

"Oh I have no idea," he waved an airy hand, and then a static spike ran through his body when Frisk turned all the way around and started to scurry from the workbench. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait!"

They stopped, drooping. " _What_ do you want."

"Well, you see, sweetie, I'm a little bit handicapped... at the moment." Mettaton gripped the workbench, rocking his nearly limbless body gently back and forth as the child returned to him. "I have, absolutely no idea when Alphys will be getting back. But, seeing as it is just a little bit _your_ fault that I'm like this, perhaps you could... finish her job for me?"

Frisk wrinkled their nose. "I don't know anything about robots."

"It is very simple! All the fixes have already been made to my limbs and my ports, you just need to put them back in." He smiled wide at them, although they didn't move for a long moment. They just looked from him to the disembodied limbs.

Mettaton's smile slipped. He stretched his mechanical smile even wider in what he assumed was his friendly expression, and then added, "I promise that _this_ time around I won't try to kill you."

Frisk shoved their hands in their pockets. "I'm kinda busy. And Alphys is really the person that I'm looking for right now."

"Oh, please, it will hardly take you any time at all!"

The child hunched up their shoulders, frowning at the robot who wobbled gently back and forth in anticipation. They rubbed their face, and approached the workbench with a dour expression. "Alright, fine."

"Wonderful!" Mettaton crooned, as the child put their hands around his waist. With a grunt, Frisk started to lever him down onto his back, and he was quick to aid them with his remaining arms. Even so, his head thunked on the workbench, and he was only grateful that this body was not covered in nerve endings. "Easy does it, sweetheart."

"Do you want all of this back on you, or..." Frisk gestured to all of the limbs, now expressionless. Mettaton paused, putting his index and middle finger to his metal lips.

He smiled brightly. "Just the legs, please. I'll just find something around here to cover up my extra arm ports."

"Okay," Frisk muttered. They grunted again as they struggled to lift one of the legs, and then put it back down with a red face. They spun Mettaton around to lie horizontal across the workbench instead. "I didn't mind the four arms, though, you know."

"Please, darling, I'm not trying to reach an audience of one," he replied, smile strained. He watched from the bottom of his eyesight as the human child aimed and squinted and levered the top of one leg towards his first port. He had to try and relax; he hated this part. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're being so generous."

There was a stabbing pain in his hip as the leg connected with an audible snap and click. The sensation of his right leg returned to him, along with a rush of strange pins and needles as everything continued connecting, electricity and magic flowing through the limb. Frisk was muttering, "Yeah, well, whatever. Don't kick me. I got a lot of people to help today apparently."

Mettaton's voice waned and broke but he continued to smile, bracing his arms on the edges of this table. He looked up to the opposite wall while the child struggled with the next leg. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I know a little more than the average observer that you have plenty of reason to hate-" and maybe that was his own bitterness talking as well as everything else, "The monsters around here. And you've never been very, ahem, helpful before. What's your game, darling?"

Frisk aimed the leg towards the last port and inched it close. "It's the same game, I'm just. Well, I want all of this to end, but I don't want to kill anybody. And, I know that... I mean, I _think_ that doing this is the only way to make that happen."

"Looked that up, did you?"

The child shrugged, and the stabbing pain assaulted his hip on the other side. "Oh!" He spun himself, kicking his legs as Frisk scurried back out of range. "Oh yes, that's _much_ better." He let out a loud sigh, relieved, and eased off the workbench. Frisk took even more steps back, rubbing their wrist and turning a sulking expression at the floor. "I owe you a debt of gratitude!"

"You owe me a lot more than that," said the human, and his smile became strained again. But their voice cracked, as they added, "But, but that's not supposed to be important anymore."

"...Is that... right?" Mettaton also cast his eyes down, standing fully upright and leaning from one hip to the other. "Is it time to go spread the joy to Alphys?"

"I'm gonna do something with Alphys," they said. Then they eyed him again. "What are you gonna do?"

"Ohhh," he traced a hand delicately over the shape of his face. "I have a cousin who I need to... need to..." He smiled wide with his bear-trap teeth. "Need to go throttle. You go have an excellent time with Alphys, sweetheart!"

Frisk snorted, a genuine laugh, and it was like a weight lifted. "See you, Mettaton."

"Later days!" He said, in a sing-song voice. On his restored pair of legs, he went down the escalator together with Frisk; at the bottom, he departed towards the laboratory exit, and Frisk stood still in front of the entrance to Alphys' private elevator.

Just once, he turned his head, in time to catch the child going inside. He himself sighed just a little, drooping in front of his own door. It was going to be a long way to Waterfall.

He pressed a switch. The door shot open again, and it let in the light of the burning Hotland lava.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Here we go, took me a little less time than the last chapter at least XD

I had ideas for how to do all of these scenes for a while, but I kept getting tripped up on how to end each one. Anyway, I like Mettaton and wanted to put his UF alternate in this fic just a little bit more.

 **Next** **Chapter:** Backtracking Flashback


	12. Backtracking Flashback

"And there's somewhere I have to go at the end," she said. "But I think there's somewhere else I have to go... first."

Toriel tilted her head. She was doing that an awful lot. "Where is this other place?"

"It's back at the beginning. After we visit Papyrus and Sans."

"... Alright. You may go where you wish."

 _That's a first._

They stood first in the streets of New Home as Frisk spoke to Toriel; never had she imagined that she would exit the castle from the front. But when she was on the heels of one of the castle's former occupants, as she had come to learn, it stopped being necessary to sneak out into the Core.

It was surreal, this dark grey city. Even worse than the dim and sickening Waterfall, the lighting came almost exclusively from lamps hung around the windows. There wasn't much of that-but with what there was, it quickly became apparent to Frisk that this city was very old. To be exact, it looked like something out of a medieval story, all the buildings made of stone and the roofs bordered by parapets, spires, or old domes. The doors were made of wood, the windows free of glass, the buildings squished together bordering every street. The street was also made of stone, paved with cobblestones that gave off a mushy _click_ with every footstep she made.

What made it more surreal, aside from the fact that this city was filled with monsters, was that it was almost completely colorless. Much like Asgore's castle, it was all as if every inch of New Home had been made with the same boring material.

It made it easier to keep her head down as she moved behind Toriel, with nothing particularly catching to attract her gaze. She wouldn't have to look at all the monsters that were eyeing _her_. Standing on the street-smoking, loafing, or just trying to look tough-there were plenty of monsters around, too many monsters, fish creatures and mammal creatures and razor-teeth _things_. In the windows, the ones close enough to the ground, she could see them too-all in their own individual tiny apartments.

Each of them turned their head to stare at the human that was walking behind the abandoned queen, once they were done staring at the abandoned queen directly. But despite the burning looks, they didn't move. It was as if they didn't dare. Frisk tried to hold her head up high. She kept her frying pan out just in case, and her face stayed a frozen dark glare.

Despite what Sans told her in the final corridor, she couldn't help but think it wasn't because of her that they weren't attacking, or mobbing her (if any of them were "fans" from Mettaton's show,) or anything else.

That was how a lot of their journey through the underground went. After New Home it was Hotland, and from Hotland it was Waterfall. In Waterfall, it was Undyne that she spoke with. Toriel waited outside, humming to herself, unbothered even by the long time that Frisk took to come back out again. When Frisk came out, indeed, she found Toriel deep in conversation with Napstablook, the dark ghost anxiously fidgeting back and forth as they whined to her face. When she returned to Toriel's side, Blooky vanished in an instant.

Then from Waterfall, it was Snowdin.

Toriel even asked if she could come in too, when they finally arrived at Sans and Papyrus' house, on past even more monsters who, all things considered, were pretty much maxed out for surprises. Frisk's heart sank, and she shivered while trying to tell Toriel, in as clear terms as she could manage, that she did not need her coming in and, as she eventually went with, potentially distracting Sans.

"Alright," Toriel said, "We will simply catch up later!"

Her throat burned as she nodded, and then went inside to speak to the bone boys. When the child came back out again, it was to find Toriel in the same spot that she left her, hands tightly clasped together and humming some kind of tune that even Frisk hadn't heard in her head. When she saw that Frisk had returned, she stopped immediately and smiled, nodding. "Did your talk with them go well?"

"I think so." Frisk's stomach flip-flopped, and she turned her head to look beyond at the rest of the town that they still had to go. Some monsters had come out of Grillby's bar just to gawk at them, and the child's face burned. "Come on. We have to make that stop."

Toriel nodded; now, it was Frisk who led the way for her. Frying pan out in hand, like a shield, she trekked through Snowdin and ignored the gazes, only focusing on the bridge into the forest way ahead. She tried to keep a quick pace, but even—not desiring to give anyone the idea that she was afraid of these monsters anymore.

After they passed the bridge, it was an even longer walk to where she had to go. Frisk made it even longer; every so often, she would stomp the ground with her foot and pause, half-hoping for a response and half relieved when none came. Toriel hummed and asked, after a fourth time, what it was exactly that she was doing.

"Nothing," was her only response.

Most of the monsters that Frisk remembered liked to gather thickly on the outskirts of Snowdin—Snowdrake, Gyftrot, the Moldsmals—were absent today, and she didn't know if they were only hiding or if they had fled. It made things easier.

The only other monster they ran into was the Iscream man by his cart, as miserable looking as he always was. Frisk remembered all of the Iscreams that she had stolen from him over the last few weeks, not to mention that she had forced Blue Sans to steal, and lagged behind Toriel until they were both clear of him. He wasn't looking at them, at that point.

After long enough, when the two of them were surrounded by trees, Toriel mused, "Oh, I see what path this is." She picked up her pace until she was beside Frisk, who rubbed her arms unconsciously. "Are we going back to the Ruins?"

"No."

Fortunately, at that point it wasn't long before she didn't have to explain anymore. They were on the final path, where the river met the snow, and Frisk stomped one more time before she put her feet to better use. She jumped over the river and kicked around while Toriel crossed over the same way.

Her feet touched on the right spot soon enough, and her whole burrow opened up to her eyes. Child-sized, the lengthy hole that she had dug a long time ago with Flowey and Sans' help. Where she slept, while all around her monsters were tucked into warm and solid beds. Where she kept all of the nothing that she had while trapped underground, far away from home.

It was too small for someone like Toriel to fit. She again was forced to wait outside while Frisk crawled in quietly. "Oh my," she murmured, just before the child disappeared in the burrow.

The burrow was lined with Iscream wrappers and boards, most frozen over and covered with snow by now. The end of it was furnished by several stacks of boards, on which all of the monsters' names were written. Under their names, tally marks.

Every monster had at least one.

Frisk grabbed each stack and, bit by bit, gathered them into one pile. Then she edged them out of the burrow until she found herself sitting just outside of it, with a huge wad of wood boards lying on her legs. Toriel stood with her hands folded, eyebrows raised, eyeing the child quizzically.

"...What is that you have there, my child?"

Frisk stared down at all the names, as one by one she removed each board from the pile. She didn't speak, not even when Toriel asked again with a raised voice. Papyrus, over fifty. Sans, two. Gyftrot, three. Mettaton, well his tally wasn't accurate anymore. She ran her fingers over the lines, her gaze quivering, her lips and brows pulled down.

Being torn apart with sharp dog teeth, or hacked at with scythes.

Being electrocuted.

Being stabbed, or whacked, with hard white bones.

Or spears.

The memories crowded through her head, painful but also dull, and her frown got deeper, stronger. Fire, piranhas on a lit-up gaming platform, drowning. "...Fuck..." she said, quietly.

"Language," said Toriel.

Frisk's head whipped up and around, glaring right at Toriel. The boss monster, covered in soot, only looked placidly back. There was no sound between them, until finally Frisk set the last board aside and took a deep breath. "I want you to help me with something, okay?"

Toriel nodded. "Yes?"

"Can you help me burn all of these?"

In hot, smoking bursts of blue fire, Frisk had watched all of the boards change color and collapse under Toriel's attentions, all of the names and tally marks going up in smoke with them. They were all wet and frozen, but somehow Toriel managed it, and Frisk had a vision of battling her in the ruins that she had tried for a while to forget. She had watched the sputtering bonfire from a fair distance, not wanting to be too close to the heat; hands clasped into fists, she was shivering in the cold instead. She could only be grateful that Toriel hadn't asked her what these were originally for, or why they were doing this. When she had found her own name scrawled on the wood surface of one, she'd picked it up and cooed, nearly giving Frisk a heart attack, before it was also consumed by the magic blue flame.

Eventually the furnishings of her burrow had been reduced to a smoking pile of white wreckage, and Frisk returned up close to them to kick and nudge them with her shoes. Her stomach turned over and over and she sat down in the snow in front of it.

 _Congratulations, it's impossible to read what was on them now_ , said her head.

Toriel sat down next to the child, and Frisk scooted a few spaces away with a slitted glance at her. The monster turned her head, idly rubbing soot off her face, and then looked back to the pile. "I recognized a few of the names," she said, as if helpfully, and began to hum again.

Frisk didn't say anything.

"It feels good to be out of those Ruins..." she said in the wake of the silence, lowering her head down almost onto her chest. More humming. "There is so much more light and open space, here."

Frisk curled up, pulling in her knees. "..."

"Perhaps, if this world is given the correct discipline..." Toriel caught a flake of ash that was set in motion by the warmth in front of them. "You could even be content here."

"There's," Frisk stood up, trembling, "Somewhere I gotta go now. H-here."

"Of course. I will accompany you."

* * *

Toriel was gone, now, though. And Frisk was far more comfortable for it. Now, right now, it was quiet and dark, with just her standing alone and holding onto herself. The only sound except her breathing was the hum of the elevator, bringing her up up up, and she wasn't sure how much longer she had to go.

As the seconds wore on, feeling like eternity, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through it to kill time. She went through all the names she had programmed into it. Some of them were from this world, and a few were from the other. She couldn't call any of them right now. This stupid phone didn't even have the ability to text, it was just that old. So she just scrolled through the list, and sat down against the wall opposite the elevator doors.

Far below her and this elevator were the quivering masses, the creatures of dust and goo and nightmarish shapes. Alphys, too. Her name was also in her phone, but then it had been for a long time.

* * *

The lab that Alphys' private elevator took her into-after it crashed, and probably broke a rib that the Temmie Armor took its time to heal-was bathed in dark, dull grey and harsh red computer screens. Frisk wandered through it filled with fear, shivering in a chill that she didn't think would exist in Hotland.

Each computer screen she passed flickered to life at her presence, like they were expecting her, and when she took a look the entries forced themselves into her mind like the intrusive thoughts. The words followed her progress seeking out keys and getting zapped by the bare sockets or uncovered wires that littered the place.

 _Entry No. 6_

 _* Asgore asked for some of the monsters in and out of the city to come to my lab._

 _* I recognize some of these faces. Neighbors, friends of friends. Some of them are sick._

 _* I'm taking them into the back rooms one by one, but they're getting suspicious._

 _* After I inject each one with determination, I..._

 _* Can't let them leave. Not until they die, and I can see what happens to their SOULS._

 _Entry No. 9_

 _* things aren't going well_

 _* some of the test subjects have "fallen down" but their bodies won't turn to dust._

 _* it's the same for any of the ones i kill._

 _* Asgore's going to be mad at me._

 _* people keep asking me when their friends are coming back_

 _* stop harassing me._

 _Entry No. 11_

 _* i realized what a toxic person mettaton really is._

 _* he only ever talks to me to aask when i'm gonna be done with his body_

 _* he's totally gonna ditchme when it's done._

 _* i'll show himm_

 _* i'll give himwhat he deserevs_

 _Entry No. 16_

 _* imliterally havingnaa panictattck_

 _* theyknowwhat iidd_

 _Entry No. 18_

 _* the flower escaped_

 _* we were just getting somewhere too..._

 _Entry No. 21_

 _* stopharasing me oh my god thisis whyi never ttalk toanyoen anumore hhhhhhhh_

Worse than the computer screens was the creatures that Frisk met down in the lab, hiding in the crevices and shadows and in unusual shapes. They couldn't be fought back, they couldn't be reasoned with. She didn't even know what kind of monsters they were; they were all white masses of shapes that moved in strange inconsistent ways: they rolled like sand one moment, ballooned out like a gas another, and sometimes they filled spaces as though they were liquids. One was an amorphous collection of dogs that drooled all over her and nearly squished her under giant gooey paws, another was a collection of trailing skulls and whispered words, and there were even more still.

Each time she went against them, her only choice seemed to be to run. But however hard she tried, there were many times when she found herself returning back to the site of the last "miracle" where she SAVED over the world.

Just when she'd hoped that her days of dying were over.

It wasn't always them that occupied her thoughts of the lab, though. Frisk found in one room a TV and tapes, tapes that Alphys mentioned in her entries if only briefly. The thoughts of her head intruded and told her not to watch, and yet she picked up a tape anyway, and pressed it into the video cassette player. The picture was so dark, it was hard to make out much, but the audio was crystal clear. She watched one all the way through.

 _* Gore, wake up._

 _* No._

 _* Are you videotaping me? Put that away._

 _* No._

 _* Because today is a MOM-umental occasion._

 _* I will have a monumental fit if you don't put that camera a-_

 _* ..._

 _* ..._

 _* Did you get the joke._

 _* Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm_

 _* Toriel. I will be honest. It was not optimom._

 _* ..._

 _* No, no, that was not as funny. Hmm hmm hmm._

 _* Oh go to sleep then._

 _* Fine._

 _* Fine._

 _* Fine._

And another.

 _* Okay Anna, smile._

 _* That's not a smile._

 _* Like this, see?_

 _* Hah hah hah! Did I scare you?_

 _* Oh no, I had the lens cap on._

 _* Cry again so I can catch it._

 _* Aw, come on. Don't make me come in there._

And another.

 _* Are you feeling better... that's good..._

 _* No, the lens cap is on, see?_

 _* No one can see you cry._

 _* Hah hah hah, come on, no one's gonna watch this._

 _* ..._

 _* Do you remember when we tried to make butterscotch pie for dad?_

 _* And I thought we were supposed to put in buttercups, but it was actually cups of butter?_

 _* And dad ate it and he got really sick?_

 _* You sure saved my butt then._

 _* Mom was sooooo mad._

 _* It was just an accident though, pfft._

 _* Anyway, um, I was thinking..._

 _* Oh, shoot, let me turn this off._

And another.

 _* It-it's gonna be okay, Anna._

 _* I know it's gonna work._

 _* You said you trusted me, didn't you?_

 _* Hey, you don't HAVE to if you don't want to._

 _* ..._

 _* You really... want to...?_

 _* Um._

 _* Okay, I'll..._

 _* Get the flowers..._

And another.

But the last one she realized she didn't need to watch. It had words in it which she had heard already, words that she had heard all this time.

* * *

Even now, back in the elevator, Frisk's stomach was cold and empty inside. Even Alphys' assurances, which rang so hollow in any case, didn't erase the sick bundle of nerves in her.

It might not work. They might not come. Whatever it was that was supposed to happen, might not end up happening.

And then she wouldn't even have the boards that she had had reduced to a pile of ash. There'd be nothing, just like Anna.

 _You wish someone would call you, but no one is going to._

The elevator doors opened, bathing Frisk in the cool light of Asgore's grey castle. Frisk stood up and brushed herself off, stumbling off the platform into the stone hallway. She checked her phone again and strode forward, not noticing the squeaks and creaks behind her as unseen appendages slowly dragged the elevator down into the shaft, never to be used again.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I really wanted to cover _some_ of the things that Frisk encounters in True Lab, but, as has been my feelings for a lot of Underfell stories, I don't think it's necessary to do a complete play by play of what happens. I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen or played the Pacifist ending for themselves and already know how you're supposed to go through True Lab. Sorry guys; the amalgamates are going to have their own importance later in the series anyway, the way I have it currently planned.

The next chapter might take a little longer to get out, depending. 'Cause the next two chapters are the most important /

 **Next Chapter:** Doubts and Fears


	13. Doubts and Fears

Morose, despairing, he hadn't left Frisk's side for a moment. Underneath the earth Flowey wormed after the child as they moved through the Underground, making no noise and responding to no call for him. They were past the point of him rising up to give advice or aid; just because Frisk could reset didn't mean that they could return to the past. He understood that.

Still, it seemed that they had their own plan for things now.

It was a good plan, he heard the whole thing when they were discussing it with that other child. There was only one flaw in it, though.

It relied on the monsters of this world, and even worse it relied on him.

Flowey would think, particularly after Frisk ventured through Alphys' lab where he dreaded to go, they would realize what a poor idea this was. But they continued moving on through this lab, without a phone call canceling the plan or a muttered word decrying it as foolhardy. He even had a chance to overhear their conversation with Alphys, where they extracted a promise from her to come to her aid when she made her way to Asgore. Alphys, surrounded by nightmarish creatures, spoke as if she had no reason to refuse them.

When Frisk entered the elevator and left the lab behind, Flowey already knew what he would do. From underneath the ground he entered the elevator shaft, and after it came to a stop he reached out his powerful tendrils and wrapped around the rails on the bottom. With all of his strength, he pulled and pulled until the elevator car grunted and groaned down the shaft. It creaked down halfway and stopped, stuck for good. Flowey climbed up the shaft at a near impossible speed, then, burrowing through the walls and out into another grey part of Asgore's castle. From there, he made his way to where he knew the throne room would be. He knew that Frisk was either ahead of him or close behind, and he kept a sharp eye out for the child as he went.

Instead, he spotted someone completely different, although similar in stature. Sans, all alone it looked like, was waiting in a hallway close to the throne room. He was peeking around a corner, and didn't seem at first to have noticed the little flower. Snow still clung to his clothes, like he had just been in Snowdin an instant before; that didn't surprise him. But since he was capable of taking a shortcut to wherever he needed to be, why be here? Just short of where he needed to be.

Flowey cleared his throat, and he snapped right around to face him. Sans' eye flickered. "oh. yo, weedy."

With an anxious glance around him and seeing no sign of Frisk, Flowey kept his face neutral. "Oh. What are _you_ doing here?"

Sans shrugged. "y'know, uh. proving stuff."

"Proving what?"

He scratched his head. "it's not important. shouldn't you be uh, with the kid or something?"

Flowey tilted his head. That's right, as far as he saw Frisk hadn't told Sans anything about what happened with him. Somehow, the gesture warmed his empty vessel, like a show of confidence. "Shouldn't you be with the kid? They're probably going to meet with Asgore soon. I think that's your cue." In spite of his words, however, the yellow petals around Flowey's face waved as small white seeds formed behind each of them in a floating ring, ready to fire.

Slowly, Sans had again begun to sweat. "... yeah, guess you'd'a heard that whole thing. uhh, listen," he wheezed, and Flowey blinked. "i'm havin' a bit of trouble working up the nerve for this. facing our mass murdering king and all. uh, tell you what," Flowey blinked again, his face genuinely blank, as Sans scratched his skull. "the boss went to make sure undyne is coming. when those two get here, i'll go back the squirt up too. so why don't you go on ahead, huh?"

Flowey stood in disbelief, his seeds dissolving into sparks of magic out of sight. He bent forward as if in thought, while inside he was suppressing a lopsided smile full of teeth, which wouldn't even have fit on his face as is. He spoke quietly to the sweaty monster, "I never did like you. Of course I'll go on ahead."

"hheh, yeah, you do that," Sans said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "see you later, bud."

Flowey burrowed underneath the ground and started moving. "Not if I see you first," he said to himself.

That accounted for three of them, which was already more than enough. At one of the others, he of course could also guess. His only concern was Toriel, but he saw no sign of her since she and Frisk parted ways outside of Alphys' laboratory. That was good enough for him.

The souls were located in the barrier room, and it looked as if for now it was occupied. Asgore stood still just inside, trident in hand and making no sound but for his own breathing. He was alone, but that would soon change. Flowey popped out of the ground like a daisy, shaking off soft rock, and quickly searched; the vessels rose up to his knowledgeable touch, each soul shining brightly through the glass just waiting for him.

On the other side of the chamber, Asgore stood still with his back to the canisters. But as they rose out of the ground with a soft swish, his head started to turn in their direction. Flowey froze in his tracks, willing him to remain where he was.

Sure enough, loud footsteps reached the room that took Asgore's attention much faster. His head faced forward again, and he rumbled, "There you are."

The reply he received was a small squeak; Flowey knew it was Frisk. They sounded so weak at the knees, their voice hoarse. "Hi Asgore."

The lid of the first canister popped off, and the green human soul circled around Flowey. He moved his tendrils to the next, bathed in the warm and powerful glow.

In the meantime, a long and uncomfortable silence stretched between the human and monster in the chamber. Frisk softly shifted from foot to foot in the echoing space, not making a move. It caused Flowey as well to pause what he was doing, as in this silence they would surely hear the creak of him lifting the lid of a canister.

Finally, Asgore sighed softly, and then growled, "Is it your intention to fight me, human?"

"That's not what you…" their voice faltered. "That's not what I want to do."

Green was followed by yellow, both orbiting around Flowey's face as if they were moons. "Were you perhaps hoping for me to stand aside and let you hit your head against the barrier a few times?" Asgore said behind the flower, his voice a slow drawl.

"No, that's not it," Frisk said. There was a small clang—the edge of their frying pan striking the ground. Blue, yellow, and green all chasing after each other. "You're supposed to… well, everyone else is supposed to..."

"Everyone else, as in?"

"Umm." Purple followed behind, and then cyan. A swell of energy and drive filled Flowey even being so close to the souls, their individual wills buzzing close to his empty stalk. Frisk stammered not far away, pitiful, confused. Around now, like in all the times that they didn't know what to do, he would be the one guiding them along. When they wanted to quit, he gave them directions.

That's how it used to be.

"I met Toriel," they said, raising their voice again, and Asgore's breath hitched. "She came with me …Out to Hotland. Before, I mean, _after_ I saw you, and…"

Asgore's head lowered, the growl of his voice grew sharper. "Toriel..."

"Not just her… everyone, I mean, I, um." Frisk struggled, and orange popped out of the canister. They all formed a ring around Flowey, growing tighter and tighter, and he suppressed his laughter at the sensation that filled him up from root to petal.

They didn't hear him, Asgore was cutting in with a stamp, "Toriel, Toriel? How did you find—no, that is not important now. What point is there to bringing Toriel, or anyone else, to this duel? Unless… your plan is to take your freedom with her."

"No, that's not it either, she was supposed to...!" Flowey burrowed into the ground, away from the empty canisters, as human DT surged over every cell in his body. "…Maybe I'm too… early…"

He felt like he was going to burst, and his roots and vines were already spreading underground. He wanted to morph and change, even more than he already could. He wanted to grow and stretch out in the open air, infect everything, and cut out of this tiny little body. This tiny little body was too small for six whole souls, too small, too weak. He had to hold on for just a little longer.

Asgore's face twisted, coming into view as Flowey resurfaced just behind Frisk. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I don't know!" They shouted. Their voice was rising, cracked. "Jesus, it wasn't my idea, _okay_? Everyone's just supposed to... be here..."

Asgore tightened his grip on his trident. "And, why is that?"

When Flowey made his move, it was all one smooth motion. Under their feet, one long thickening vine, bedecked with thorns, erupted from the chamber floor and wrapped around Frisk's waist. The moment it had coiled enough times, making two wraps around them, it flexed and dragged the small child to the ground as they shrieked.

While he did that, from underneath his petals he materialized and shot a white seed. It sped through the air, through where Frisk's head had been a millisecond before, and struck Asgore with all the power of six human souls.

 **\- 99999 HP**

Asgore grunted, his body shaken, and fell down to his knees. His eyes were wide with shock and incomprehension, and so staring at the scene before him his body crumbled to dust. His SOUL, which floated free, Flowey shot another seed at. It cracked and dissolved, untouched.

Down on the ground, Frisk struggled against Flowey's hold. His vine was creeping up her body for a third coil, almost crushingly tight. Unable to breathe in quite so deep, the child's voice remained hoarse. "What do you—think you're doing?"

He flexed the vine, and it brought Frisk back upright while still maintaining his hold. They kicked their feet just above the ground. "Oh, I just couldn't… couldn't stand watching that!" Flowey uttered a small, weak chuckle. But he didn't feel quite so weak now. "Please, I was doing you a favor."

Frisk's face burned. "Let go, let me go!"

More and more vines were emerging from the ground and walls as his influence spread deeper and deeper into the underground. Even this wasn't enough, or it wouldn't be for long. One smaller tendril curled around Frisk's neck.

"How did it feel," he hissed, his voice wavering as his grip grew tighter and tighter, "when you started doubting they would come save you?"

Frisk choked, clawing feebly at his plant flesh wrapped around their throat. Their eyes burned into Flowey, and he ducked behind and away from their gaze. "Why," was all that they could rasp out.

"Why am I doing this? You already know the answer to that." His petals drooped. "I didn't want it to happen like this. But I don't have any other choice."

Gradually, Frisk's movements became more and more frantic. He eased his hold over their neck and they gasped and coughed. "You ruined my Plan A. And even if you don't have Asgore's soul, I know you'd find some way to ruin it this time too. I could make another dream for you, but it would never be good enough."

He raised his head. "This time, I won't let you have any choice in it at all."

"Stop it..." Frisk rasped.

There came a wet snap, and Frisk stopped moving and talking completely. Their red SOUL came free of their limp body.

Flowey tossed the body aside, and cradled the SOUL in his hundreds of snaking tendrils. It was a beautiful red, emitting a soft glow as the others. It was filled with tremors as if even now it was trying to turn the clock back. But now he was the one that was filled with DT.

Against his own expectations, he wasn't even sorry.

He knew he had an only instant, somehow just an instant, so he took the red SOUL into his vessel.

Flowey couldn't hold himself back anymore, then. The seventh SOUL was in place. His body tore apart to make way for something new.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** PLOT TWIST.

Sorry this turned out kind of short ;w;

 **Next Chapter:** SAVE Yourself


	14. SAVE Yourself

The world rocked and burst into muted colors. Bony colors, fishy colors, furry colors. They competed against each other, all a desperate scramble, before they swirled out completely into blankness like an empty screen.

So much power and drive. It was like being filled to the brim with tiny flashing miracles, picking and choosing the points of the world that they desired to copy over in their consciousness, like a photo album. It was overwhelming; it presented them with a tyranny of choice at first, as they floated in their new form through the world held at their fingertips. They could restore or destroy any timeline. Warp this world to the very beginning, a beginning that once was lost to them through countless humans that fell down here.

Lost to Asriel.

Lost to them.

They could keep the timeline going as it was, too, however. In a way, they already had what they wanted, so further action seemed unnecessary. Maybe they would enjoy a save just a little before the moment that the world became theirs.

The blankness they'd retreated to flickered to life and filled again, the Underground returning to a previous state. As soon as they had inserted themselves back in the world proper, with a mere whim they rewound it. A few minutes, a few minutes more. Until they had rewound over a quarter of an hour, and then at that point the rewinding world came to a complete utter halt. Their feet touched down to solid ground, and they landed in the center of a familiar throne room. Dust or ash that had been recently disturbed hung frozen in the air and frozen in time.

The particles gently clipped through them as they walked across the long room. In a similar manner, although they didn't quite line up with the doorway they had no issue with getting into the adjacent hall, without even shifting to line up properly.

 _Where are we going?_ They thought as they left the stone wall behind them. Quickly, they corrected themselves. _Where am I going?_ It was once they corrected themselves that they realized they already knew the answer.

Moving through the castle was much faster when they didn't need to line up with every door, or when they didn't need to use every stair or elevator. They glided so quickly, they were like a ghost. They stopped after a few moments, though, sticking a claw in their mouth as they considered the situation. With what felt like limitless energy at their fingertips, the world shifted around them. They moved from point to point in the blink of an eye, choosing as a fixing point the places where they used to SAVE as, as...

The places where the ability to SAVE were the easiest. Somehow it felt as if the amount had doubled since last they thought about it.

There were particular people that they wanted to see, and although initially moving in random order, they jumped to those points in search of them. They found their mother sitting just outside the castle doors, humming to herself. Lost in a dream, as though nothing of any urgency was going on, her eyes were far away by the time that they arrived in front of her. There in that dream she would remain, now, with her gaze transfixed on no particular part of the ceiling. They couldn't help but feel some kind of revulsion, and then some kind of sharp nostalgia, upon seeing her. Toriel.

They jumped to another point, and there they found an argument taking place amidst the dim, sickly lighting of Waterfall's neighborhoods. Trapped in perpetuity, the bone brother and Captain Undyne screamed at each other in the middle of exaggerated gestures, perhaps in the kind of argument that they might have had several times before. They couldn't help it, they sneered at the bickering couple. But as they did, a miserable twist overtook their stomach and they decided to move on. So strange, given everything else that had happened.

Alphys, it wasn't hard to even guess where she went wrong. She was still underneath her lab, hiding away from all of her responsibilities, curled up in a corner with a chisp halfway to her face. The amalgamates she created, free to wander even to the upstairs, seemed on the cusp of escape with no one left to stop them. Maybe it wasn't too late for Alphys to die down here, alone and surrounded by her obnoxious mistakes.

Somehow that didn't feel right. They decided to port somewhere else. To find the two that they had already found before, at least for another laugh. They found Asgore sitting in his throne, slouched, staring to the entrance of his throne room as if perhaps expecting a visitor. In a few moments he might be off, although clearly moving too late.

They remembered a little less solidly where Sans was, in the final corridor. But, when they moved to that point, he wasn't there after all. They thought at first that something terribly wrong had happened, but then they remembered Sans' ability that none of the other monsters seemed to possess. It appeared that he had not been cowering long in the corridor when they found him.

When Flowey found him.

When they found him.

Where had he been? They could rack their memories to guess the most likely place, but they were an impatient being. Their consciousness swept through the underground that they held in their grasp, until their mind came upon his insignificant presence; in a flash they appeared back in Waterfall, touching to the ground and turning. He was there by the water, not that far from where Papyrus and Undyne stood in their timeless argument; he seemed in the middle of a chat with the river person, although it was hard to tell when his mouth never opened anyway.

That was everyone accounted for, nowhere near where they needed to be. No one else stood in their way. Why didn't any of their friends come to helThey waved their hand in front of Sans face and they uttered a careless chuckle, preparing themselves for what would come next.

There were a lot of changes about this miserable world that they planned to enact, as its new God.

But in the next instant, they realized that something was wrong.

They had drawn their hand away from Sans; although his body, like with the rest of the monsters, remained frozen in place, his red eye followed their retreating hand in its socket. For a second, as bizarre as it was, they thought that perhaps they imagined it, and they waved their hand in front of his face again. Again, the eye followed, a wavering point that moved back and forth while the rest of Sans, even the relaxed socket, was still.

How could this be?

It surely didn't matter. The only way someone could resist a god's will was if they were a god themselves, or something like it. And they were fairly sure that an _eye_ could not become god. It must just be a fluke, a glitch, of some sort. Just like the "reset" ability had its flaws, the things it missed, the "pause" ability must have just missed this one too. They waved their hand over Sans' face one more time and dipped a finger in his eyesocket, moving it around and satisfying themselves to feel nothing but empty, cold space in his skull.

The eye didn't watch them as they departed, after that. Unimpeded they returned to the castle, for now, zipping through it until they stood inside the barrier room. For right now, the barrier gently waved its monochrome light back and forth over the cavern floor, freedom just beyond it. They remembered the first time they pressed through it into the open air.

They remembered watching as they left.

No, they moved through it once. Twice?

Their head hurt looking at the barrier, they turned away. Perhaps the first thing they really should do was destroy it. The whole world and every human soul would be open to them then. If they were a god with seven, they wondered what even more would do for them.

Something else other than the barrier was giving them a headache now, it had gotten to the point where they started to massage their head just underneath where their horns sprouted out. "Ugh..."

But the headache was nothing compared to the sudden sink in their stomach when they finally realized what the source of the pain was. A shrill, dull sound emanating from below; their phone was ringing, it seems like it had been for some time.

 _My phone_

Their phone.

No one in this underground could be calling, not unless someone out there possessed the same ability as Sans' eye and moved about when they were not supposed to. They brought their phone out, and remembered that on Toriel's old dinosaur it was impossible to actually check the number. They would just have to give a listen in. Cautious, they opened the phone and pressed it to their ear.

"Hello?" They said.

"Hello?" Said a voice back.

 _"That's my voice"_

It was a familiar voice, but it didn't belong to them.

 _"It's the other-."_

They needed to hang up.

"Hello?" But the voice persisted, and however much they wished to tear it away from their ear they stood in place like they were frozen. The child on the other end of the line laughed a weak laugh, and said, "You've been taking a really long time. I worried that maybe you were at the part where you probably shouldn't be answering phone calls-oops! I guess you answered anyway."

They breathed out, slowly.

 _"What was I taking a long time_ doing _?"_

The phone call had nothing to do with them. They knew that they needed to hang up, but their arm wouldn't lower no matter how hard they tried, as if control of it had passed to someone else.

And the voice on the other end became shaky. "Hello? Did you even get to Asgore yet?"

They just visited Asgore.

"Hellooo?" One more time, the voice called out to them, to them whom it had no business calling.

"Frisk?"

* * *

Once again, Frisk woke up from the brink of a dream. Admittedly, this one was a little less grounded than before. The body she was standing in right now wasn't her own, far from it. Yet the tall boss monster body had only a moment ago seemed so familiar and comfortable; now it was too high, too slender, draped in the kind of regal and pointed clothes that she would never be caught wearing, and Frisk's mind was overcome with dizziness and an unbearable pressure.

She knew what was going on, she remembered Flowey taking his long vines and tendrils around her soul, absorbing it before she even had a chance to start their encounter over.

Stabs of fear added to the pressure; Frisk struggled to think, her own thoughts a faint whirl amidst so many others. She wasn't the only being fueling this body; even next to all of the faded musings of children which she couldn't hear, Flowey's thoughts were like a siren in volume.

This was Flowey, but it also wasn't Flowey; something, although she couldn't quite tell what, was different about him. The name Asriel pounded out at her, but even as as Flowey's story came back to memory all she felt was confused. Asriel should have given some kind of warning before he showed up, like all the other monsters in existence; that was the _right_ thing to do.

...Asriel, in what she supposed was his own body, had been standing still for quite a long time. However Frisk struggled, she couldn't force any part of him to move, nor could she direct his thoughts. As soon as she woke up, it was as if those thoughts retreated from her and locked themselves up. They no longer were of one mind.

Frisk hoped that she would have eventually dragged herself free of him even without Blue Frisk. No, she would have time for those kinds of thoughts later. Already the pressure was growing worse and she saw no means of escape from someone's own body.

Maybe this was how Asgore felt.

Suddenly Asriel was moving, walking out the barrier room with his cape and robe dragging across the floor. Frisk didn't know where exactly he was going next, but considering the thoughts that the two of them had before Blue Frisk's call, she didn't want to wait to do whatever it was that she was supposed to do. The only issue is, she didn't know _what_ exactly she was supposed to do. She couldn't move out of this body, no matter how hard she tried, even though in no way did it feel like hers. Although if she did get out of it, where exactly was she to go?

The souls that were within Flowey the first time had gone somewhere, once she defeated him. But she didn't know where or how.

For now, she just focused on the pressure that was growing stronger and stronger against her. It seemed set on pressing her down, even if neither of them took up physical space, and she wondered if she would go back to thinking she was just another part of Asriel if it succeeded.

Well fuck that.

She shoved at it, struggled against it with all her will, and called out to Asriel's mind. " _Hey, fuckwad, I need to talk to you_ ," she said without lips. The consciousnesses of the other dead children buzzed about a little bit louder in the collection of souls, but they weren't the ones that she was after-not to mention how utterly awkward their last meeting was-so she tried to ignore them. Asriel, at first, returned the favor. His mind was shut off like with a brick wall, and he said nothing to her.

He was just walking, until he reached the throne room and stood in front of the Asgore again. So she tried again, projecting her thoughts loudly. " _Come on, Asriel, I know what's going on, talk to me. I'll list every bad word I know over and over in your head."_

"There's nothing to say," said Asriel at once, startling her. He took a long look at Asgore, his face twisting bitterly, and then he turned and started to walk out further. Where he was going, Frisk wondered if even he knew. If he had a destination, there were faster ways to reach it. "You pushed me to do something like this, it wasn't my first choice. I would have even been satisfied with staying in that other timeline, as long as we stayed together."

" _I want to go home._ "

"Oh please!" He snapped, and his lips curled in a way that she had never seen before as a flower. "For a while there, you and I shared the same thoughts. I've seen the home that's waiting for you up above. It's not worth fighting so hard for, nothing up there is worth fighting so hard for. You're just a special kind of idiot who doesn't know when a better opportunity comes along."

She felt the words as if they were coming out of her own throat and, unable to control them, it was as if she was choking. Her soul burned with anger, and she repeated. _"I want to go home. I want to live. So put everything back the way it was."_

"You aren't in a position to make commands anymore, and in a moment I'll prove it," said Asriel.

 _"Flowey! Whatever you're going to do, cut it out,"_ Frisk said. Asriel didn't say anything more to her out loud. Much to her surprise, though, another voice finally replied in her head, as she fought against the pressure on her soul. But, although strained and clear it suddenly was, it wasn't anything like Flowey's voice. It didn't belong to any of the children's souls either, the six of them having long become empty of answers.

 _You struggle. Nothing happens._ It was that voice which Frisk had never exactly heard before, but was already familiar to her mind. Now there was nothing left to her _but_ her mind, and the presence couldn't be glossed over. It caused her to stop for just a moment before something changed on the outside, the world once again reacting to Asriel's will.

The first time that it had happened, they were on the same wavelength. It felt natural, almost an extension of every reload SAVE Frisk had ever made. Now it felt intrusive, spurring panic in her soul, as if the ground under their feet and the air around them was supposed to be hers to control. As Asriel tore the ground apart, condensed the air, and melted away the colors, it took all of her control away. Then they floated in a void, where there wasn't even a trace of dust in the air.

The void around them shimmered and broke into basic bright patterns, changing gloomy colors, while Asriel rubbed the tip of his snout. "See how easy that was? I can purge the entire world if I want to, and that's more than you, with your stubbornness, have ever been able to do."

 _"Put it all back,_ " Frisk said, quiet as to be a tiny blot in his mind. Whether she had gotten like that seeing everything disappear, or because of the relentless pressure squeezing down on her even now, she wasn't sure. But the other voice

He simply folded his arms. "I could, if I wished to. But that's the point, isn't it? I can do anything I wish, now."

 _You fight with all your might. But nothing happens. Even your own SAVE file is out of your control now._

Even on the smallest level, Frisk couldn't so much as move her arms and legs anymore; they weren't hers, after all. She could feel his movements as if they were hers, more so when he concentrated. The curls of his lips, the twitches of his fingers, and even the sparks that sometimes jumped to his hands; she felt them all but none of her decision. The point that made up her mind grew smaller under the weight of just knowing that much. Maybe whatever that weight was, it had already crushed the minds of the six human souls.

The world around them flashed into some new colors, warmly shifting from shade to shade as Asriel arranged them.

...Small as she was, she hadn't yet been crushed. _"You can't, though. You can't do anything you want; you can't stop me. You couldn't stop me all those other times, and even now, when you're a god - or whatever-"_

"Well that's going to change now, isn't it?" He hissed, mind and voice cutting her off. The void they floated in started to rearrange into the world again; instead of the throne room, or indeed anywhere like Frisk had seen in the underground, they stood in a swirling snowy village, bright and cheerful. Snowdin? But it, too, was empty. "You act cocky. But I'm the one with the reins."

Even if it was just mental, Frisk grunted as her focus slipped and a thin rage bubbled inside. This forceful creature whose body she was trapped in couldn't be Flowey. He wasn't that nervous coward flower, who stammered so when they first met, who fled from every encounter; he wasn't her friend. He wasn't that person she trusted, the only person she trusted.

Hell, Flowey hadn't even been Flowey when he was Flowey. She remembered when he tossed her into Blue Sans' machine, bringing them both into that other timeline; his face had changed then too. Maybe that was when it started, or something.

So much pain; a stream of Frisk's thoughts melded together into an unintelligible growl. This stupid this stupid this fuckwad shitpig stupid who murdered her trapped her fuck fuck fuck shitty little doucheball with his shitty

"And even after all this, you don't you understand," he murmured. Around them, the snow flew faster and colder. "I just wanted someone to stay."

Though she slipped, and slipped, she grabbed for his words like a lifeline. _"I wasn't going to leave you behind."_

"Liar." Asriel lowered his head. The wind bit at them like teeth, and the ground grew dark and muddied as the cavern ceiling overhead turned grey.

 _"I'm not a liar, you're the liar. I wouldn't leave you."_

"Maybe I have trouble _trusting_ that."

 _"I'm not-!"_ She stopped, but only for a second, her presence spreading. From a pinprick, she pushed to become a dot. _"-Lying. I don't know about RIGHT NOW but we were friends."_ For a given definition, at least. _"When have I lied to you like that? When did I ever..."_

The third voice said, even cutting her off, _As you struggle, you seem to touch something._

 _"But it's not about me, is it."_

Asriel's mind and voice went silent.

 _"It's about that kid on the tape."_ If she could, maybe Frisk would have sneered. _"And you turned into that asshole on the tape, well, I'm not friends with him. I'm friends with Flowey, you were Flowey. You're still Flowey."_

"That isn't my real name."

 _"It is to me."_ From a dot, to a blot, she pushed and pushed and the weight gradually vanished from her mind. _"I don't like Asriel. Maybe the kid on the tape didn't like Asriel either."_

"Stop it. You don't-"

 _"I like Flowey. I'll stay with Flowey. I wouldn't leave Flowey. I'll be a jerk to him back but I won't leave him behind. Not like that Asriel you turned into."_

"..."

 _You reach out._

From a blot, Frisk even grew large enough to overpower the third voice. _"But you have to become Flowey again. You have to put everything back, even me. You have to help me, the way you always did when you were_ Flowey _."_

"I don't have to do anything you tell me," he said, but his voice for the first time was hoarse.

There was a little anger left over. With even that small amount, Frisk suddenly was as big as this tall monster body they both inhabited. Suddenly, even that disembodied pressure had disappeared for her. _"Yeah, you **do.** "_

Snowdin disappeared into another void; it only lasted for a second before the world rearranged again. Everything for Frisk was fading out, though, faster than she could see what shape the rearranged world was taking. Before everything went black, again, the voice spoke one more time in her head.

 _You have bullied your way through, at least one more time._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In Undertale you have to remind Asriel of who he was in the distant past. In Bunny Fell-Fell you have to remind Flowey of who he has been in the present (or something like that pff.)

Ehhhh this chapter gave me a lot of issues, although I hope you guys like it anyway. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for me to finish it. We have one more chapter after this, which should at least be easier to write, and then I'll have finished this fic and I'll be free to work on sequels I'm more interested in doing.

 **Next Chapter:** The Chara Named Anna


	15. The Chara Named Anna

Today, even though the sun was clogged by clouds and the sky was grey, it did not rain. Asking sunlight of this country around the mountain was unreasonable, so even this gloomy overcast day looked like a perfect day to go outside and play.

Construction sites were fun places to play, but Frisk was unwelcome there. Not because she was unwelcome among the construction workers, though; among many of them, this child was their savior. However much their savior she was, though, she was still vulnerable to a beam falling on her head, a stray tool slapping her in the face, or something worse from the careless monster construction workers. While the town of Neo New Home continued to be built, there was no place for a child to wander through it. It was just as well; seeing most of the monsters there was just making her angry.

The garbage dumps right outside the construction site were not much better, both in terms of hazard and scenery, but there was no one there to kick Frisk out. She wandered in-between huge piles of trash, which had inexplicably all been brought up from the surface, hands folded behind her back. Above, the skies were as grey as they always were, threatening the kind of rain that you would not get in Waterfall. The wind against her skin soothed her from the faint stink of the garbage.

Even after all that, Frisk had not gotten back home yet. That long trip still lay ahead of her, she who had no means of driving or flying or teleporting anywhere she wanted. It had to be miles from Mt. Ebott to her hometown, on a trip only worn from nature tour buses that wouldn't be coming around during this part of the year anyway.

When she had stood out on the side of the mountain with the others, Frisk could see her city in the distance. It glinted on the horizon beside the golden beach; even in this murky weather, to her it was beautiful. But now that she strolled around near the base of the mountain the view was blocked by the trees and the landscape.

Frisk found a cooler at the edge of a pile of fridges and microwaves, wrenching it free of other appliances without much effort. Inside was a Tombkeeper protein bar; her stomach growling, she unwrapped and chewed the bitter and mushy snack. The sound of her chewing was the only one in the junkyard. No monsters rummaged through the trash or stopped by to talk.

If they were not moving all of their things out of the mountain, then all of the monsters were busy using their magic, trying to build easily hide-able houses as quickly as possible. They all desired a new home above-ground for them to enjoy, and more importantly for humans to miss. Considering the way most of the Mt. Ebott monsters behaved themselves, Asgore had decided that it was best for now if the kingdom hid itself.

Well, Frisk did not mind that part. She pulled out another protein bar and found this one hard and crunchy; as she bit down, she strained to catch the sounds of construction again, wondering when it would all be finished.

Unable to determine how much time was left, she sat. She did not want to be alone with her thoughts.

"You don't want me to come with you," Asriel had said. In the ruins, she saw his true self for the first time, the way that he was when he was just a child. Young as he was, he was in every way a prince of the threateningly pointy Kingdom of Monsters: with a red and gold shirt, a single ear pierced, and the same bloodshot red eyes as his parents. Even his brooding words were accompanied by an irritated expression, one that Frisk mirrored, herself, at the time. "Trust me, just leave me here.

"I'll turn back into Flowey again," he had added, with a contemptuous snort. "Of course, then I'll be too scared to leave this dumb place anyway."

Perhaps it was understandable how she let that slide, how she did not protest too hard that he had decided not to join her and the other monsters above-ground, regardless of whether he was a boy or a flower. She did not leave. All the same, though, the conversation had stopped there for a while, while Frisk kept Asriel company. Sitting in the field of dead flowers, where the only sound was a drip from somewhere in the shadows.

When he began talking again, it was hoarsely. "You know, even though there's legends about how dangerous this mountain is, there were still people willing to come on up here." He had flashed a toothy grin at Frisk, who flushed as he said, "I know the reason you came here, and I know why you fell down. It's kind of silly."

Her flush grew brighter, and her scowl deeper.

Asriel plucked a withered flower from the ground, as he went on, "It's okay. Anna had a really stupid reason too."

Perhaps as was appropriate, Frisk was then at a loss for words. But that, too, was alright. As long suppressed as they were, Asriel finally had more to say. His brow creased. "They always wanted to help people, you know? They loved people, and they loved their home - I at least got to learn that much about them. But I like to think that they tried to love monsters too."

And he had stared at Frisk, with a face that at first twisted bitterly, before he relented. "... When you and I met, I always thought how you and Anna were so different. Anna was such a great person, even to someone like me."

"Thanks," Frisk had replied, folding her arms.

"Hey, come on. Don't pretend that you're ever nice," he laughed, quietly, and he continued with his gaze lowered. "But, especially over the last few days, I think I. I started to think that you two are more alike than I thought, after all. It started to feel like maybe I had gotten an old friend back."

There really was silence. And then he had murmured, "I guess what I'm trying to say, again, is, I'm sorry for all the weird stuff I did. It's the kind of stuff that the old me would do," so Asriel said, gesturing to himself. "But that me is the one who started all this trouble in the first place, isn't he?

"When you're finally on the surface watch out for friends like Asriel," were his parting words, "Who let you down when you're not expecting it."

Up on the surface a few drops of rain wet Frisk's hair. Scanning the trash for an umbrella, she stood up and brushed dirt from her pants. It was a good thing she was already in a junkyard, as she could simply toss the protein bar wrappers onto the nearest pile.

In the beginning, she had dreamed about taking Flowey back home with her. Putting him in a flower pot and finally having _someone_ to talk to who couldn't leave her behind. Maybe when the fresh memory of her neck snapping had faded, maybe when one day she was a better friend, she still could.

"yo, squirt."

 _Speaking of bad friends..._

With a fresh sheen of sweat and a crooked smile, Sans and his insignificant presence appeared before the child on another junk pile. His red eye, which was always roving, moved back and forth as he took her in. "havin' fun in the garbage?"

"Why aren't you off helping the other monsters make houses?"

Sans offered a wheezy chuckle, and he said, "i'm on break." The laugh cut off abruptly as a raindrop struck his skull and slid down between his eyes. He looked up with a strained, almost-grimace. "jesus, what a surface."

"What do you want?" She almost picked something up to throw at him, remembering the things that he didn't remember, but the panic on his face stayed her hand.

Sans slid down the garbage pile, until he was at level with Frisk's face. He kept glancing up towards the rain, but as few other drops fell his smile relaxed. "just checkin' up on you, kid. you didn't really say what your plans were after we got down here, if you were uh, gonna stay or maybe-"

"I'm going home," Frisk cut in, and his smile strained again. She added, a little softer, "I need to go back there and make sure they know I'm okay. That is, when I figure out how to get there."

Glancing off in the direction of the city, Sans scratched his head. "oh yeah? where's that?"

"I dunno... there?" She gestured to where he was already looking. "It's called Ebottstadt. Where I live is on Strassen Road."

"heh heh, that's all greek to me but sounds nice."

Frisk sighed. "It's really far away. There's a bus station wayyy out that could take me but I never went there by myself before."

"that so?" Sans looked away, considering something off to the side. "me and the boss have been arguing all day over where we're gonna live. see, neo new home is gonna be like the old city, but there's been talk among the cold monsters of makin' a new snowdin up on the mountain."

Frisk rubbed her nose. "Does Papyrus want to live in-in Neo Snowdin?"

He shrugged. "he wants to be a big fish. you can be a big fish in snowdin. me, i like the city. you can be ignored in a city."

"Why don't you guys just live in separate places then?"

A chuckle. "well... hm." He touched a hand to his chin. "i'll sure bring that up with him. as for you, squirt. ...well,"

It started raining for real.

Somewhere beyond the garbage heaps, a lot of monsters began complaining - a few of them, fire monsters all, started screaming and running for cover. Frisk and her lovely striped sweater were soaked in moments.

Sans was likewise soaked; if he had any hair, it would all be on end. His permanent smile was almost like a straight line as he wheezed. But it was only for a few seconds until Frisk grabbed his arm; she pulled his doll-like hand out of his coat pocket and held it. "The hell is _your_ problem?" She said.

At her voice, Sans' eye focused on her and grew back to its ordinary size. "hheh. heh. sorry, it's wet." More nervous chuckling. "as i was saying - uh, uh, let's go somewhere else for a bit."

They vanished.

The rain hadn't reached the city just yet, still pouring down in the countryside. When Sans and Frisk appeared on the edge of a street, it was grey and rumbling but still almost dry. Perhaps in anticipation of the coming storm, there was no one out on this street as far as the two of them could see. That was just as well, considering that Sans was the bedraggled image of a deformed skeleton.

Frisk clapped her hands over her mouth, as Sans sighed with relief and shook water off his jacket. It took her only a few seconds to realize what he had done, and where they were. Although not everything sank in yet. She hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing? None of the people here know you exist yet!"

Sans seemed to be thudding a bit of water out of his skull. He paused at the child's furious expression, snorting. "relax squirt. hey, d'you think you would be able to walk home from here?"

At that, Frisk's eyes widened and she spun in a circle, trying to pick the street out in her memories. "... Maybe. This row buildings looks... kind of familiar."

"i'm surprised at how smooth everything looks," Sans was musing on his own, rubbing his clawed fingers over his bony chin. "just like in the architectural magazines." And then his gaze snapped back over to her. "you gonna head on back to your human life, kid?"

It shouldn't have been so hard to understand that this was what it meant for her, for him to bring them all the way back to the city in the span of a second. But somehow when he said that, it was as if Frisk had been hit with something, and her throat clogged up. She looked back at Sans with a dumb expression, and he sweated and rubbed his head. "... What about your guys' new city?"

"uh, oh. we're fast builders," he said. "but it's gonna take time before it can really be called a proper city, heh heh. i don't think you want to stay in the junkyard for that long, especially seeing as you've been gone from here for so long already."

"Oh." Frisk held her hands together, softly grinding her teeth. "So, you're just gonna leave me here? I didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone."

"don't have to say goodbye," Sans shrugged. "you got my number, kid. call me up later, uh, when it's not raining, and i can bring you back." Even though he was always smiling, there was a serious tilt to the way that he looked at her as he talked. As if somehow he looked through her and knew why she had been nothing but grouchy since they made it to the surface. Why she refused to go with Toriel, why she quietly refused to talk to the humans on their behalf.

But like everyone else, he didn't comment and he didn't pry. Sans just looked away. "anyway, i'll give you a holler too when we're done. that's hoping nobody comes in and finds us out before we're ready, right?"

"Yeah." Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she nodded. Suddenly she wasn't able to look him in the eyes anymore. "Then I'll see you in a bit, Sans."

"you're sure you can get home from here? this place is. pretty big."

And she nodded again, taking a deep breath. "I'll get there one way or another. I made it all this way, didn't I?"

"true." He snickered. And his eye seemed to glow softly. Sans took a breath, half raising a hand like he was going to say something to her, but then he let it go and stuck his hands back in his pockets. "...then i'll leave you to that. i'm gonna-" the sky rumbled, and he glanced up. "-go find some shelter for myself. see ya twerp; i'll tell the guys where you went for ya."

With that unceremonious goodbye, Sans was gone. And with him left the Kingdom of Monsters, the everlasting nightmare, that Frisk had been wandering for weeks and weeks. She stood still for a long time on that street, even when the weather finally broke over here as well and poured down on her. She felt for her phone and assured that it would stay dry, although it never had a problem with water even in Waterfall. She looked at a street lamp that just flashed on, casting a wide light through the rain.

Her face was wet.

She was back in Ebottstadt.

Mt. Ebott, when she looked left, was a blot in the distance that several buildings had almost hidden completely. She had disappeared from it so quickly with Sans that for a moment it was as if a piece of her was still racing over the forest trying to catch up. Until then, she stayed in the same spot.

But she was not done just yet. No, indeed, when so long had passed without moving that the rain actually lightened up, she turned and strolled down the street. She knew just barely enough that she followed the vague trail of memories back to Strassen Road, past adults with big raincoats and black umbrellas. There she found a building that had been awaiting her all along.

Inside, she found people that had also been awaiting her all along. Staff, a matron. Other children, too. All of them, all of the faces that she struggled to keep in the very back of her mind through every death, through every pain.

She cried so many more tears than she ever wanted to in front of other people.

When it was over, if not for the myriad of strange things that she kept to herself in her inventory it was almost as if the whole thing hadn't happened. Well, there was a lot of reminders for her, particularly in the next several days. For one thing, she found herself having to answer a lot of questions-to the teachers, to the other children, to the police, to the newspapers. Her face appeared on the news, in the papers, if only for a brief while as all the adults talked about how 'brave' she had been.

For, where had she gone? It was at least believable that she had gotten lost on Mt. Ebott and had taken this long to get back home, without a proper phone and without a bus. She was skinny enough for a child that had hardly eaten in weeks. Frisk got a lot to eat in these subsequent days, and somehow the cafeteria lady's food was more delicious than it had ever been.

It was strange to think of the other children being nice to her. Crying over her departure, sharing toys, sharing computer time and sharing snacks. Even this alone was a reminder of her ordeal, and Frisk shuddered to consider that this was all an even more elaborate dream that Flowey cooked up for her.

Every time that suspicion became too much, she would hug a sweeter reminder in her inventory, a stuffed bunny with an orange chest.

But the strongest reminder came when all of this was settling down, and the child with a host of problems was allowed to finally rest. In the middle of the night, she had even managed to get to sleep like everyone else, the covers wrapped around her body in a tight and messy cling.

Not long after she'd stolen away into her dreams was Frisk was shaken awake, and she opened her eyes expecting morning but finding that the sun wasn't even close to being up yet.

"Uhh...?" The child blinked several times, trying to shake off her grogginess and understand. Standing in front of her, recognizable no matter how dim the lighting, was herself - albeit, smiling brightly in a way that she never had.

The Blue Frisk.

As Frisk gasped, her Blue self threw her arms around her, laughing, and hugged her tight.

And she said, "You took too long!"

* * *

As for me, my situation did not change the way that I had hoped.

I was unwilling to either bring this child to ruin or take their soul for myself. I can attribute that to the meddling of the other world. But I must, more importantly, attribute my failure to Frisk's own uncertain feelings; I believed that after the end, what she valued the most would become clear. With those strong feelings in our shared heart, I would have the drive and the means to take her happiness away from her.

But this story was not originally intended for a happy ending, and she knows this. Ironically, that may be what prevents me from taking that one step and ruining the ending that we have.

I have not given up hope; the story can go on indefinitely, as long as interesting things continue to happen. I can thank the other world for that too.

Now that I have met with Alice again, I have also been thinking about bringing this ending's ruin in ways outside of simple mechanics like the SAVE function. I have thought about gaining power outside of Frisk sharing it with me directly. Trying to move outside of my parameters as a being without a SOUL is tricky. Getting the upper hand against a human with so much determination, outside of abusing the SAVE function, is even trickier.

But that is fine to me. It doesn't matter when, or where, as long as I get what I want in the end. Which is to say, as long as I get the opposite of what Frisk wants.

I am the Chara that is called Anna. I was once the fallen child.

But now I

and Alice too

am "fell".

* * *

 **Author's Note:** ARGH FINALLY THAT'S IT. For this fic anyway. The series I still intend to continue, and I hope that how long it took me to finish this one (or the quality of this one? lol) hasn't squashed peoples' enthusiasm for the rest of it.

The next story in this series is going to be a little bit of a breather for me. Specifically, I want to write a fic in which Undyne is the focus character (if not the viewpoint character,) both the Underfell and classic Undertale versions. I also may try to do more work on my series of shorts from the ASL Tutorial 'verse.

Just as a note, Frisk's hometown, orphanage, fictional country, etc. are things that I intend to be the same across all my UT fanfictions, regardless of whether it's the same Frisk or not. I just figure that'll be easier for me to keep track of my headcanon lore if I stay consistent (although there will be slight variations between an Underfell Frisk's home and an Undertale one.)

Hope you enjoyed this last chapter, and thank you to everyone who has read this work and especially thank you to those who have left comments on it!


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